The Roommate Conundrum
by properlycolorful
Summary: "Kim." He steps forward, taking in the lines between her eyes and how they tighten. "We're roommates now. I might get a little annoying, maybe a little loud, and really gross, but trust me when I say that care about you."
1. The Roommate Conundrum

**AN:**

 **Wow. It's been a long while.**

 **I'm honestly so sorry for disappearing for such a long while. I just really needed to readjust since I had to move back to New York and all that. And, I was also dealing with a minor symptom of writer's block. I couldn't find anything I was interested to write in. I mean, Kim and Jerry continuously inspire me, despite the show ending and all that. I just couldn't find the perfect AU or story to base them off. You might have seen me post a story called Four Steps earlier this year and I was going to post that one, but it just didn't inspire me enough. So, I dabbled in other stories for a while on Archive of Our Own as the user properlycolorful, and I guess the space helped a little.**

 **Nevertheless, I was watching Kickin' It a couple weeks ago and I was so inspired. I hadn't gotten the opportunity to watch season four at the time so I binged, I guess? I watched all of it and suddenly inspiration hit. Yeah, all I had to do was give Kim and Jerry some space for a while and then come back later to write for them.**

 **Anyway, The Roommate Conundrum is sort of supposed to be like a literary sitcom or series? Like if I was writing the show Kickin' It in the form of a story? I mean, it's not exactly Kickin' It, more like an AU of what probably happened once the show ended and the characters grew up a little. If you have any constructive writing suggestions, let me know in the reviews.**

 **Here we go.**

* * *

1.  
The Roommate Conundrum

* * *

"Hold on," Jerry starts, pressing a small cardboard box against his stomach. He squishes himself against the door, tightening his abdomen, small veins through his arms constricting, letting the small box through.

Kim stares and stares, but never really helps. She doesn't think she's obligated to honestly. She just lifted over six boxes over five flights of stairs; she's done for the day.

Besides, she's not the one moving in today. Jerry asked over a week ago if he could move in and she couldn't really decline. Jack has a girlfriend, Milton is married, and Eddie is about to have a kid. It was basic human decency to let him stay for a while. And, just a week ago, he broke up with his girlfriend Poppy. They had been in a relationship for a long, lo _ng_ , _long_ time. Kim couldn't really remember when they started going out nor when they met, but she knew that they were pretty much soul mates for a good while. Time had been good to them. It's confusing to see them break up, especially since Poppy looked so happy the last time she saw her, but it wasn't any of her business anyway. All that mattered was that he told her that he broke up with her and needed a place to stay. Naturally, and regretfully, she said yes, mostly because she cared about him and because sometimes it did get a little lonely here. It wouldn't hurt to share an environment with Jerry...well, it would―especially since he was absolutely disgusting―but that wasn't the point. She's his friend and friends show that they care. He's lost his girl, for whatever reason it is, and she needs to be here for him.

Jerry moves into the front entrance, placing his small box onto the white, probably quartz, kitchen counter. There's a kitchen on the right of the door, a small dining room on the left, and the living room set across. He's a little nerved at the new surroundings, but he takes it in slowly, gradually. _He's glad to be away from Poppy._

"You okay?" Kim steps closer beside the anxious boy, pressing her hand to his shoulder.

He nods, breathing in wearily. "Yeah, I'm good."

* * *

"So, what'd you call me for?" Milton asks, digging his hands into his pants.

They were walking underneath some boardwalk by the dojo, strangely the only place they ever met up in for private discussions, and Rudy had come to tell him something. He had called about five hours ago urging him to meet him up at four, because he knew that if hadn't called five hours early then he would never be able to make it, since apparently Rudy needs a lot of preparation time and Milton is too "busy" that he has to make appointments with him. He had, of course, disagreed―not with the "preparation time" thing, Rudy is an egomaniac―but was still a little relieved he did make an appointment. _Who was to know if he had gotten busy?_

"Well, I just need your help," Rudy begins, facing the redhead, "you're the only smart one in the dojo and Kim is apparently busy helping Jerry settle in―I mean, I don't know when anyone else is more important than your sensei, but whatever, I don't care, I respec―"

"Rudy!" Milton sort of warns him. "You were saying?"

The older one eyes him for a moment, trying to remember what he means, but then nods amusingly and understandingly once he remembers his train of thought. "I need you to help me find a place. Francine's my fiance now and I can't have her living with my mom anymore. I mean, she's driving us crazy."

"Yeah, my mom's really neurotic too." Milton nods knowingly, taking a step forward in the sand.

Rudy shakes his head briefly. "No I mean Francine, she can't stand my mom and she keeps picking a fight with the cat."

The paler one stares confusingly, and a little annoyed, but doesn't say a word. He shakes his head and turns towards the path ahead. There's a small shuffle his hands make in his dark blue jeans, but he tries not to let Rudy know that he's half-annoyed and just half-uninterested. His sensei tends to think that everybody cares about everything that stumbles into his head, or all the rambling he loves so much to do, but nobody really does. He doesn't know if Francine even does. Nevertheless, Milton continues to listen, because he cares about his sensei, and when you care about someone you show it.

"Anyway, I need you to find me a place by the end of this week. I'm not asking for much." Rudy smiles at him, earning a smile back from Milton.

"Well, you can count on me. I know a lot of good places around Seaford," the smaller one replies cheerily, slapping Rudy's back, "and one of my power walking friends is a realtor. I bet he knows some locations too. What exactly are you asking for?"

His sensei taps his chin. "Oh nothing. I'm not really picky, I can settle for anything."

"Oh okay," Milton halfheartedly says, understanding that Rudy was more than just picky. He could say that he was fine with something one day, but the moment its in his fingertips he'll find all kind of reasons as to why he doesn't like it. For Pete's sake, he knew that he was even picky about what kind of cat he wanted―and he even read cat recommendation letters, which Milton didn't even know existed. Francine was the only thing he wasn't picky about, and even then Milton worries one day he will be.

This is why he's got to do it right. _He can't let that happen._

* * *

It's been two hours and Jerry has been walking to and fro the entrance. There were about three boxes that he had to pick up and then some little trinkets that he had to carry with care. Nevertheless, Kim notices that he's forgotten something, but he's pent up on believing that he brought it here. It's typical of Jerry; she knows she should help him before he drives himself crazy.

Kim, lethargically, whips her feet from under herself and pushes herself off the phthalo green couch. She faces him with something like a sardonic smile, but it's a little more warm than bitter. "Jerry, you okay?"

Jerry looks at her, still a little dosed of adrenaline and drive, stopping in the middle of his tracks, and slowly calms. "Yeah, I'm fine. I think I just left something, but it doesn't matter."

She shakes her head at him, raising an eyebrow. "Why don't you just go get later? If it means that much?"

Jerry rubs the back of his neck. There's a twinge of something else besides anxiety going on his eyes, but she doesn't budge. He seems like he just needs to adjust, new environments and all that. "Nah, I can live without it. I just feel a little―icy? Usually that thing would make me feel more at home. Your house is just so empty, Kim."

He takes a small step to the side, moving around her, and angles his head towards the living room. There's a dark green, more bluer than most greens, couch facing the wall in the middle of the room. There's a few white pillows on the couch and a warm fuzzy green blanket, but it still looks so hard and cold. Just a few good spaces ahead, however, lies a large television screen. It looks a little recent, but he can tell by the scratches on the side that it's been here for a while, maybe two years? Other than the those two items, there's a small bookshelf in the corner stacked with books Kim has probably never read, and a large window facing the couch's armrest. Jerry's a little disappointed that the house feels so cold and icy and bitter, but he knows that that can change with him around. He's a _true_ homebody.

"It's not empty," she defends, extending her hands to the couch, "I mean―look there's a couch, a TV, and a bookshelf. That's a lot of stuff."

"Yeah, and there's also a ceiling and a floor," he retorts. Kim raises an eyebrow. "Just because you have stuff doesn't mean anything. It's the little things that make a home."

Jerry crooks his head towards the dining room. There's a white round table settled with two white chairs around it. There's no fruit bowl, no plate mats, no candles, no plates or forks. It's surface is spotless; Kim probably never eats there. There's also no lighting, that corner is dark and, once again, cold. He wouldn't even want to eat there.

"I mean," he begins to say, "do you even eat on that table? Let alone cook in the kitchen?"

"I cook!" She frowns lightly, lurching her head forward.

Jerry stares. _Really?_

"Sometimes," she continues to say.

Jerry crosses his arms and slings his head to the other side. _You sure?_

Kim stomps her socks against the dark hardwood floor, trying to retaliate against him. She does cook...sometimes. It's very rare, but she does cook. She means, she remembers cooking...about six months ago. It was for a get-together, but she did it. _Well, maybe I don't cook then? Oh my god,_ she can't believe she's actually agreeing with him. "Fine," Kim continues further, "I don't cook. What's your point?"

"My point is: you need to start," Jerry declares, facing the kitchen on the right.

The kitchen had the coldest ambiance than any other place in the house. It was white quartz counters and white cabinets with the cleanest―literally, the most newest―stove he's seen in his life. It was clean surfaces―and he's not trying to say that clean surfaces mean lack of cooking or ambiance, but there weren't any fruit bowls, coffee makers, or microwaves anywhere! He feels almost saddened to walk in the kitchen for fear of dirtying anything, and that's not how a kitchen should feel. It should be the warmest place in the house. _He has to do something about this._

"This house shouldn't feel so cold." He lifts his shoulders a little, throwing his eyes into places that could use renovations.

"It doesn't!" Kim shouts, maybe a little too loud, but he was acting a little too entitled for a house that wasn't his. "Not to me."

Jerry just watches her, taking in every little wrinkle on her face―the lines between her eyes, the dip between her nose and lips. He understands that she's mad, he gets that it's unsettling and unnerving to have someone walk around and make you feel bad for what makes you happy, for what makes you feel at home―trust him, he gets that. However, Kim couldn't keep ordering take-out for the rest of her life and winter was coming soon. They needed more candles, more sheets, more lighting, more warmer things.

"Kim." He steps forward, taking in the lines between her eyes and how they tighten. "We're roommates now. I might get a little annoying, maybe a little loud, and really gross, but trust me when I say that care about you. _Chica_ _,_ you're my best friend. I know you better than I know myself, and that's a little weird―"

"Really weird," she corrects, her arms still crossed, but her eyes a lot softer.

"But it's true," he adds, moving away from her. His smile as soft as Kim's eyes, before he turns on his feet and examines the wall. "Now what do we do about this place?"

Kim sighs.

* * *

"Okay, so this place is perfect," Milton starts, placing his worn-out sneakers onto the next step of stairs, "it has a master bedroom, guest room, open concept kitchen, two bathrooms, and an awesome balcony. You'll love it, Rudy."

Rudy, who's about five steps behind, is heaving and stretching over the stairs. His eyes are angled upwards towards Milton, but his attention is obviously lacking. He waves his hand in the air momentarily, before using it to help himself lean on the white, probably, stone stairs. "I'm fine," he pants out, "but I'm not really a fan of this place. You did―you did a good job, but what kind of ten story apartment doesn't have an elevator? That's just cruel. And frankly, despicable. They can't put this place up for sale, that's just crazy."

Milton sighs, giving the heaving man a small smile from above. "Yeah, I'll just look for some other place. I promise your new house will be perfect."

Rudy clutches onto the white wall laughing, before Milton steps down.

He's a little disappointed because he searched so earnestly, profoundly. He wanted Rudy to have the perfect place, because honestly, he deserves it. A home is the most important part of someone's possessions―it's where you relax, where you grow, where you can get away, and where you feel most comfortable. Rudy's been living with his mom for years, and he believes that that's mostly because the guy doesn't feel at home anywhere else. So yeah, he might be taking this a little too seriously, but he cared so much about Rudy and he wanted him to be happy. If that meant that he had to go searching all week for a house then he will be searching all week for a house, no questions asked.

Milton's already by the building entrance downstairs through all of these thoughts, when he hears Rudy whimpering above. "Hey Milton," he cries, "can you help me get up, please?"

Milton sighs, and turns on his heel back up the stairs. _Oh boy._

* * *

Jerry eyes the picture he's placed on the wall, centered behind the couch. It doesn't look right.

He had taken a nice little picture out of Kim's room the other day, where she was standing with her mom and her dad. It was somewhere out of Seaford, because there was a lot trees, bushes, and hay―he thinks he sees―in the background. He knows that Kim's family actually isn't from here, he's heard some of them talk with a drawl before. But anyway, he thought it would be a nice little touch if he hung it up. Kim would feel a lot more at home―or at least her house would―if she could see and feel family around. It reminds her that she can be as close to them as she wants, no matter where they are. He knows that she tends to live life a little reclusive than most, which wasn't really a problem, but he knows she feels lonely sometimes.

Consequently, Jerry takes the picture in his hands, suddenly forgetting that he was going to move it, and looks at it properly, lost in a small haze. It's been a while since Kim has smiled like that―almost as if she was living through the warmest dream. _That's definitely gonna change with him around_ , but he still struggles to see that, especially since―

"Jerry!" Kim breaks his thoughts, snatching the small portrait from his hand. Her eyes are filled with something similar to anger, but there's a dose of disappointment too. _He doesn't want her to be disappointed in him._

Jerry tries not to think too much into it, because Kim is always unintentionally violate, but he feels a sense of guilt. He sputters his words over, and the disappointment suddenly begins to hit harshly. "Uh Kim, I―I―I was just trying to make the place feel more like home. I swear, I didn't―"

Kim lurches her head forward. Fire swirls in her eyes. "I don't care! You're not supposed to be in my room! How could you just―I thought that you'd respect―"

"I―I―I'm sorry," he stutters, taking a step back, "I didn't―I didn't mean to―it's not my―"

Suddenly, Jerry blinks. He blinks and takes another step back. Kim notices a slight change in him, but she doesn't say anything. She knows that he has been editing the house recently, placing fruit bowls all over the place, and candles in the hallway. She knows he's been trying to make this place nicer. She knows he's trying to do this for her, but it's her place! It's her home! _Not his._ She couldn't understand the sudden urge to step into her room. _How could he do that? How could he―_

"I'm trying to help you, Kim!" He steps forward, extending his finger. She sees a sudden flicker swirling in his eyes―like he's mad, like he's hurt―and her confusion strikes. He was the one in _her_ room. Why is acting this way? "I don't _need_ you to yell at me! I don't _want_ you to yell at me! I just care about you! I just want you to be as happy as you are in that picture! I'm sorry that I keep making mistakes! I'm sorry―"

Kim's eyes soften; she reaches for his shoulder. _She doesn't like where this is going._ "It's okay, Jer. It's okay, I'm not―"

Jerry flinches, stepping away. "I―I'm sorry―I should―you're right, that was wrong."

The blonde squeezes her eyebrows at this, suddenly concerned. She didn't mean for him to take it too literally. She didn't mean for him to get hurt. And now, she's feeling responsible, now she's feeling terrible, because Jerry had been thinking about her. That's something he never does. He had been thinking about what would make her feel happy. He had been taking his time to make her happy. And it's so concerning to see him switch gears like this; Jerry is never apologetic. Jerry is never guilty. Jerry never snaps. _What's going on?_

The brunette notices her concern, notices the change in her expression, and bows his head. "I should―I need to go to my room. I'm sorry," he apologetically adds, before quickly brisking away from Kim as fast as he could. It was almost soundless as well.

And Kim doesn't like anything about that. _He was just trying to be nice―how could she be so brash? His intentions were in the right place. He just cares about her. He―_ god, she didn't feel right about this. She needed to apologize.

* * *

Milton strides into the apartment, holding the doorknob in his left hand. _He knows that this place is great; he's checked everything about it―service, price, design, and functionality._ He even checked it in person, there didn't seem to be anything wrong with it _._ It's practically catered for Rudy, besides the weird guy living across from him.

The apartment is a little more spacious than detailed, and a lot brighter than in the picture, but it still flows greatly. The kitchen is beside the door, structured behind a wall that Milton stands close to, white and all marble, with sleek, silver appliances. The living room, which stands across from Milton, is wide and floored with gray stone tiles. There's enough space in there for a small dining room, in front of the nice little balcony. And beside the kitchen, lies a little hallway _. It's all great; Rudy should love this._

"You're gonna love this Rudy," he says, turning to face the older man in the hallway.

Rudy's talking to the weird guy across the hallway―Richard―and they're already making plans before he's even moved in. He's in the middle of a sentence when Milton turns to face him, "―yeah, this Friday! Sausage tacos! Yeah―what? I'll be here! I'm a man of my word! Yeah― _yeah_!"

Milton's already annoyed by the time they're becoming best friends so he tugs the other man's left arm forward. "Yeah, okay. Richard and you can talk later. Can we look at the apartment?"

Rudy shuffles and stumbles in Milton's grasp, but keeps his eyes trained on the guy across the hallway. After waving a goodbye and passing a warm smile, he turns to Milton. It doesn't take long for the smile to shift and for a light pout to form on his lips. Milton still has his arm in his hand, gripping around the blue jacket sleeve, when he stumbles clumsily in. "Ow, ow, ow! Alright―I can walk myself. I don't need a helping hand," he snaps at him, ripping his arm away from the taller man.

Rudy turns towards the apartment. The smile comes back again. "Oh, this is nice. I like the balcony―I can dry my feet after a nice long shower there."

The two of them step forward, taking in their surroundings, though the younger one has done this before. Rudy doesn't take long to twist and turn on his heels, dissecting everything and anything in the apartment. He's smiling and gawking when he starts to speak. "This is awesome Milton. I knew I could count on you."

There's a small tug on his cheeks when Rudy says that―and it's contagious too. Milton looks down just to hide it. Mostly because he's so excited that he found the perfect place―the perfect house―the perfect―

 _Oh, oh, god, what's that smell?_ It hits almost like a fast and silent train, not even a warning that it's near. And it smells like piles and piles of rotten eggs tossed into one small container until someone fell in and died and the body started to rot. _Holy Christmas nuts_ , he needs to get out of here.

"Oh, oh god," Rudy starts, smacking his hand on his nose. " _What is that_? It smells like Francine passing gas when she eats too much ice cream―and when you're lactose intolerant, that is not a good smell!"

Milton's steps forward towards the balcony, where the smell seems to get worse, and lets himself face the warm, repugnant breeze. He barely lifts his hands off his nose, but he can still smell everything in the air―from the dead corpse to the old chicken someone had for dinner, but the sun is still nice. Taking one step forward, he leans his face over the edge of the balcony, holding onto the railing itself, and peers down below. With his eyes squeezed, he sees a large dark garbage truck down the street, already done loading from the big blue stretched receptacle below.

 _Rudy's balcony is above a trash compactor―a freaking trash compactor._

Milton plants his head onto the railing, and sighs. _Why does the universe hate him?_

* * *

It's midnight on a Tuesday and somehow, again, Kim can't sleep.

There's a small yellow light in the middle of the hallway, kind of warm to the eye, radiating beneath Kim's door. It's all she's been able to look at, even if the color is pleasant. Kim can't really sleep with light, however small it is. She sees hints of it in the corner of her closed eyes, like an annoying, persistent glow that swirls in front of her eyes, and finds that she wants to look at it all night―and never, ever sleep. She likes the warm glow of it, and the strange feeling of contentedness that settles in her stomach; she likes feeling that way―especially in her own home.

 _Ah,_ she sighs, _I wonder where I got that lamp from. I mean, I don't remember getting one exactly. Did Jerry buy it?_

Squeezing one eye shut and fluttering another one open, she faces the light beneath her door. _And like a moth to a flame, she literally finds herself drawn to it._ Maybe it wouldn't hurt to look at it, besides it was nice of Jerry to do―if he did buy it, that loser. It made her feel so, so...at home? Perhaps he does know whatever the heck he thinks he's doing.

Kim shuffles her feet out of the orange duvet, pulling and harnessing all of the energy within her to stand on her two sockless feet. _And boy is the floor icy._

She rubs her tired eyes, before treading softly towards the door. She's only in some pink tank top and plaid pajama pants―the only cute pajamas she owns―but she doesn't feel as cold as she thought it would be. Her feet feel a lot icier than her in general, and she silently thanks the apartment heater for that.

Nevertheless, she wraps her hands around the doorknob, which is just as icy as the floor, and steps into the hallway. She sees the lamp on a small, round brown coffee table―one he probably brought or bought―and it immediately fogs her senses.

 _She hasn't brought that lamp out since her grandmother died. Where―_ how did he find this?

Without much thought, she walks forward. Her eyes focused on the oil lamp―the one she hasn't seen since God knows when. She blinks at it several times, mostly because she doesn't remember where it even was, but it was nice to have it around. It was a little stinky and smoky, but she always felt at home with it. Nevertheless, she hid it deep within her closet, far from where she could find it, when her grandmother died three years ago. Seeing it now, it still hurts, but she feels...a little nicer with it around, like her grandmother's still here or something.

 _Jerry, that loser―why was he such a rude, intruding,_ _dismissive, yet_ thoughtful loser _?_

Kim turns her head towards the door across the hallway. Between the small gap, right in the middle of the wooden frame and the actual doorknob, she can actually see his eyes shut against the white pillowcase. And, he looks... _at home._

 _So, s_ he smiles.

* * *

It's only a Thursday afternoon, under a warm boardwalk close to the open shore, when Milton is fluttering his eyes in disbelief.

He can't actually believe what he's hearing at the air is fresh and he can feel the breeze brush against him, but he refuses to believe he's here. He refuses to believe that he's heard what he's heard. He refuses to believe that Rudy's found an apartment. You mean to tell him that he's been searching for apartments for Rudy―nonstop, for almost two weeks―to now have Rudy buying an apartment from someone else, some guy he just met, off the bat just like that.

He rubs his scalp exasperated. "So, that's it?"

Rudy lifts a side of his lip upward, facing the confused boy in the brown jacket before him. "Yeah, I bought it! Turns out Richard moved out because it was too big and he felt lonely," he shrugs nonchalantly, "so I searched the place and it was perfect."

Milton bows his head, trying to take all of it in―all of the work and consistent searching, and it makes his head hurt. He doesn't even face Rudy when he speaks, "Yeah, Rudy, that's great."

He's attempting to make his way back home, stepping away from his mentor, because really this was all too stupid and he needed some sleep. He should have known better than to try and impress his sensei; the most simplest of things could be the greatest gifts he's ever gotten. And he's angry that he let himself get ahead with this, _he's angry that he even took this whole new-apartment-space conundrum seriously―_

"Wait! Hold on," Rudy tells him, yanking his arm backwards, "Me and Richard are gonna celebrate! Not only do I have the most awesome apartment ever, but I have a new friend to share it with. And I wanted you," he looks at Milton straight in the eyes, like a dad who's taking himself too seriously, "to celebrate it with me."

Milton sighs, _he's really not having it_. "Why?"

"Because you helped me find Richard," the older one states simply, adding on, "and you made me realize why I'm glad to be _your_ sensei. I mean, look at all the work you put in for me, it's great, especially since I didn't have to do any."

The brown jacket boy smiles, not feeling completely at ease with everything, but feeling a little more inclined to eat out. _At least he notices my intentions, old Rudy would have never done that._

"Now, c'mon, let's go get some fries―you're paying!" Rudy says, before he makes his way to the other side of the boardwalk, where the birds aren't eating up old seafood bits.

 _And then Milton refutes the latter: Rudy is still there, except he's grown up a tiny bit...just a tiny bit._

* * *

Kim is sitting on the dark green couch, wrapped around with her orange duvet, when Jerry walks in, and she's up on her feet immediately.

She thought a lot about him. She thought a lot about his behavior, and yeah she's extremely concerned, but mostly she's extremely concerned that she let herself get so ahead of something. He was obviously too inclined and nosy to be walking into her room like that, but he was also being strangely, and almost irresponsibly, thoughtful. She can at least thank the small guy for that. She's never really felt as at home since he's started decorating the place and adding small designs here and there―cooking and feeding her for some reason. She can't believe she reacted so violently, instead of just pulling him aside and telling him that what he did was unacceptable. She didn't need to snap as volatile as she did. However, Kim digresses a little on that part, because he had walked into her room and sneaked some very important photos to her out. She just wishes he would have asked or something, _so that's what she tells him._

"Wait, Jer," she starts, placing her hand on his chest, "I need to talk to you―"

Jerry lifts his head up at her in his black hoodie and shakes his head. "No, Kim. What I did was wrong, _really_ wrong, and just because I'm dealing with some stuff doesn't mean I should have treated you with...disrespect like that. You don't have to explain any―"

"Shut up, Jerry!" She suddenly screams, furrowing her eyebrows together. Jerry flinches at this, maybe a little too much, but she tries not to let it pick at her too much. _If she feels sorry for him then she won't properly tell him and everything will be a waste._ "Listen to me, you shouldn't have gone into my room―"

"I know, and that's why―," he quietly comments.

"No," she cuts him off again, pressing a finger against his chest, "you shouldn't have gone in my room. But, I'm happy that you did. That doesn't mean you can do it all the time, but I'm happy that you did. I'm happy that you took out my grandmother's lamp. I'm happy that you pulled those photos out. And I'm happy that you keep doing stuff around the house for me...and for you."

Jerry looks at her in shock, eyes screwed in confusion. "Oh, you are? You―I thought―I mean, I know I'm not―I'm confused," he says finally.

Kim laughs and plants her palm on his shoulder. "I'm trying to say that even if you shouldn't have, and should never again, stepped into my room, I'm happy that you did. I feel a lot more at home than I ever did."

The boy is still a little confused, looking at her befuddled, but he tries to pass it off. _Not everybody is the same,_ he tells himself. "Oh, um―"

And then, Kim hugs him, wrapping her arms around his upper back. Her small fingers interlock at the middle, and he can feel them curl against his hoodie. Jerry doesn't know if this is real or if it's just the calm before the storm, but he likes the feeling of it anyway. He leans into her, pressing himself a little closer, and raises his small arms softly against her back. _He guesses that she wants him to hug her back. Like normal people do._ "I'm happy that you're here, Jer."

He smiles, _and so does she._ And, they _b_ oth conclude that maybe being roommates won't be bad after all.

* * *

 **AN:**

 **Did you guys enjoy that? Was it slightly aggravating, slightly funny, or just really, really irritating? Anything works.**

 **Nonetheless, what do you think is going on with Jerry? Or Kim? Has time changed them? Leave some responses in the reviews along with some constructive criticism. I also wanted to let you guys know that most of this story is going to tackle real world issues sometimes. It'll be light and all, but I really wanted to flesh out these characters realistically.**

 **And yeah, this is a Kim and Jerry story, don't worry about that. It's just that this story now includes Kickin' It characters and my own original OC's instead of the typically isolated Kim and Jerry reign. I might write about Jack, Eddie, or Milton on the side, or even Rudy and my other OC's, while still maintaining the story on Kim and Jerry all the while.**

 **Yeah, yeah, I'm done. Have a good weekend.**


	2. The Highway Situation

**AN:**

 **Yeah, I don't think I know anything about word count and what that means.**

 **This chapter was supposed to be five thousand words and it ended up being over six thousand words. I don't even know how much it'll really add up to together, but it should definitely be over twelve thousand or something. That's way more than I intended for it to be, especially since in my outline I basically changed everything up - this wasn't supposed to be as continuous as it was; scenes were supposed to be bits not continuous. I don't even know if it's alike in any way, but it doesn't matter. I definitely like this new version more.**

 **Nevertheless, this chapter is a little important to the story - well, every chapter is. When you finish reading it, or even as you read, you might understand why, or the meaning it holds as the story unfolds, but it connects to selflessness and how important that is to love, friendships, or even relations with people. A lot of times in this society it gets hard to understand what love is and how it can extend beyond romance and into platonic relationships so I made this chapter exclusively for that.**

 **Just keep that in mind.**

 **Anyway, you can read now. I babble way too much for my liking on here.**

* * *

2.  
The Highway Situation

* * *

It's an early Friday morning, near the end of October, when Kim walks into the living room and decides that enough is enough.

She had been working all week, so who was she to judge? Typically, every morning she spent it the same way: trying to get her car to turn on, running through city streets, and pacing through office halls with files and files in her hands. She barely had time to breathe throughout the day, especially when she had the weight of her dad's company on her shoulders. Kim never really thought she'd be the type to be the CEO of anything, but she was managing it―as ever terribly as she could. When her dad told her about the position, she struggled for a while. She struggled all morning trying to find paperwork, mentally shaking herself to remember where it is, and to remember little presentation notes as best as she could. She never really got the hang of it―and still doesn't now―but she does the best that she can. Nevertheless, f _orget about that,_ Kim tells herself, _this isn't about you right now._

 _It's about Jerry._

Jerry―where can she even start? That guy, she doesn't know what it is, but he's been acting strange, or at least, stranger than usual. He barely talks to anybody, barely goes outside, and barely asserts himself as confidently as he used to. And on some days, he'll avoid her all day. He'll slip past her in the hallway, sneak into the bathroom, or do chores just to avoid talking to her―he's been mopping, sweeping, and cooking all week. He probably doesn't do it on purpose, probably isn't aware of it, but she doesn't really know what's going on with him so she can't help but make absurd guesses. She doesn't like it. She wants _her_ Jerry back―the delinquent, the man who thinks he's a womanizer when he's not, the loud, flamboyant dancer, not this quiet and docile guy―and it stings at her sometimes because then she realizes that she misses him, even though he's already here. It's a frustrating fight between her and her strange tangle of emotions.

Anyway, she wants Jerry around, not the quiet pushover or the meek homebody, so she decides to bring him along for some errands. Pull Jerry out of his comfort zone and into Kim's little fun box. He always has fun with her anyway.

"Put on some shoes, Jer, we're going out," Kim starts, flipping her keys as she points her head to the door as if to indicate for him to follow her out. He's sitting on the dark phthalo couch, resting nicely―or at least was, until Kim walked in―when he faces her.

He isn't immediately responsive, but he sees Kim tense, and decides to stand on his feet. "Okay," Jerry murmurs, briefly turning around to fold the green blanket properly on the couch. The action itself concerns Kim since he really wasn't a clean guy and everything about him was supposed to be gross, but he's cleaning and folding things like it's second nature now. Nevertheless, she lets him fix the green blanket in his hands, as ever slowly and properly as he can, before he faces her again and goes to fish for his sneakers.

They have _a lot_ of "work" to do.

* * *

Somewhere across the other side of the city, next to the shore, Jack and Eddie decide to walk across the boardwalk on a warm sunny morning.

Jack's in some vibrant blue sweater, dark jeans, and blue sneakers as he treks. Eddie's wearing a colorfully effaced shirt, zipped along with a hooded jacket, light jeans, and purple shoes. Both walk quietly along the boardwalk without many words to say. Usually, they talk incessantly about a certain event or happening of some sort, but recently things have been pretty smooth and mellow. Jack doesn't have much to complain about―though he never really did―ever since he took up small physical fitness classes, which he intends on learning in order to expand his horizons. Eddie, on the other hand, has been busy managing his small, but ever expanding, furniture store that really has taken up a storm. It absorbs most of his time so he never really hangs out with the crew anymore, but he tries his best in keeping up with them and visiting them as much as possible.

However, now, Jack and Eddie don't have quite as much to talk about.

"How are you?" Jack tries asking, facing his friend.

Eddie tries thinking about his week and how it all went, how his sales are doing well, how his wife and he haven't fought in months, but he comes up with nothing―no drama. And really, is that all they find conversation in―drama? He turns at Jack, smiling weakly, saying, "I'm good. What about you?"

He has no idea where this is going. He's suddenly just hoping Jack has some drama to stir up the conversation. It's strange and uncomfortable when nothing has happened and there isn't any silly, moronic stuff to talk about. It's a foreign thing, talking to his friend seriously and honestly. _Why haven't they done this before?_

"Oh, I'm good," Jack responds, itching the side of his nose, "I've been doing some fitness college courses just to challenge myself, you know? And it's going good. I mean, I've been busy all week; Tiffany's having some reading club thing with her friends on Saturday―I agreed to cook so I might be busy this weekend too."

"Oh yeah!" Eddie excitedly answers, lifting his finger towards the sky. "Candy told me about that. She told me it'd be fun if I go, but I don't know if I want to be around women all day. I've dealt with six months worthy of women and I guess I might be a little tired."

It hasn't been that long since Candy and he got married, but it has felt like a while. Eddie met her back in his seventh year of college, in other words, his bachelor's, when he was studying business and communications. He wasn't an amazing student, but he was there―mostly struggling to get everything and anything done, but he was there. Candy had worked at the coffee shop a little down a block away from the school. She hadn't been studying anything, mostly because she worked two jobs: barista and hair stylist. She was, and is, awesome with hair and got it to fly up in shapes and swirls that Eddie had never seen before. She was also incredibly smart―photogenic probably, because she could read anything and remember every single line if she really put her mind to it―and she knew about five different languages.

Candy had to travel consistently for her job, "helping movie stars fix their edges one strand at a time," she says, and the languages helped a little, she probably had to head to places that even Eddie couldn't pronounce the name of.

But, besides her genius IQ and incredible talent, Candy was extremely pretty. She was a warm, tawny brown girl with hints of sapphire on her cheeks and mouth. Her hair was jet black and smooth, a little wavy at the ends, and it glimmered under the glare of the sun. She was similar to Eddie's height, and thick-boned as well. Candy was curvaceous and small at the waist, but she was not slim. Her stomach stuck out at the bottom, and her arms were broad and hard from months and months of gym membership; she was, by society's standards, pretty average. And Eddie was absolutely in love with her the first day he met her.

"Six months, huh?" Jack breaks his thoughts, lifting an eyebrow as he folds his arms, "try two years."

Then, Jack stares at Eddie, as if he just had a revelation, because yeah, h _e was getting sick of women too―_ or at least, he was tired of them. He never really noticed because all was well when he wasn't thinking, but the notion always ticked in his head like a bomb. If he wasn't at his physical education classes, with the thousands of girls sitting by him taking quiet notes, he was with Tiffany and her friends. And, he had nothing against his girlfriend―no, he had nothing against her. She was amazing, she's been amazing since the first day he met her.

Tiffany was a bumbling, clumsy girl with dark shades of blue and black liner, paint, and gloss scattered on her face. She had long, curly black hair, and cool pink tones in her brown cheeks. She wasn't exactly small, but she wasn't big either. And sometimes, Jack would see that she'd fluctuate in size, expanding more than usual, and other times just staying small for a good period of time. He never really minded because it's not his body to begin with, and she was always pretty anyway, but she was an ever complex girl. She liked comic books and heavy metal, and her favorite thing was pink roses and abstract paintings―and sometimes those things changed over time. Nonetheless, she was the same girl he met at Eddie's wedding party―a friend of Candy―and he loved her just as much as he loved her yesterday.

The only problem was: she didn't _really_ give him time for himself―or well, anything. Some of that isn't her fault, especially with his tight-knit schedule at the dojo and course work, but it doesn't help that he needs to juggle some of her things along with his. He never really thought about it before Eddie brought it up, but he really is tired of women―or at least he thinks he is. Tiffany doesn't really give him much time to think, let alone breathe; he's been busy since he can last remember, and most of those events were parties Tiffany had set up. He is, by the past five months that he can recall, tired of women.

"Two years? I couldn't even imagine," Eddie comments, his eyes ever big when he's interested, "but wait, isn't that when you met Tiffany? Two years ago?"

"Yeah," Jack replies, nodding as he thought about the repercussions of what he said and what he probably meant, "I mean, I love Tiffany, but, I don't know, I guess it's just a little overwhelming and exhausting. I'm juggling tea parties and comic book clubs all the while course work. And all I ever see is girls in flower dresses squealing about how exciting the next volume of Batman is, and how terrible the next movie saga is gonna be―and honestly, I really don't care―"

"Yeah, neither do I," Eddie adds, "Candy keeps talking about it―since she thinks I'm a guy and all―but sometimes I just really want to water my flowers."

"Yes!" The taller boy extends his palm towards the other, relieved and ecstatic that someone understood him. "I don't know about every other organism in the ecosystem, but the flowers in my kitchen aren't going to drink themselves. They need water, care, love, and affection and the air isn't going to do that by itself!"

Eddie nods fervently, grinning as Jack spoke. _It was so relieving to find someone who could agree with him about gardening,_ especially since Candy always ignored him. It's the reason they had been fighting for two months about negligence in the house hold. Candy was rather vexing about it; she knew that he mostly listened to respect her, but it was just cruel for her to talk about it all night until he fell asleep before he could tend to himself―and his sunflowers: Lulu and Jenny. Batman and all his other friends could wait.

"You know what we need?" Jack continues, placing his palm among Eddie's chest to stop his tracks, "We need a man cave."

"Yeah," the smaller boy coincides, "we just need to join a man club, one of those groups where we hang out with guys and talk about manly stuff. There's one on Penny Ave―right where the motorcycle gang hangs out sometimes, but they're never really there because Manny's always at the hospital."

"Manny?" Jack lifts his eyebrows again―but this time from confusion.

"Yeah, Manny's the leader. He's really cool and he loves gardening too! He's just always getting into bar fights all the time," his friend answers, nodding his head as he speaks. Jack is a little scared that he knows this much about an infamous motorcycle gang around Penny Ave, but he doesn't push any farther―since he doesn't really want to know―and just decides that it's better if Jack and Eddie make their own club, without criminals who like daises and sometimes aren't in the hospital.

"Yeah." The confused, but all too concerned, friend steps backward. "I was thinking we could just make our own club, like, like a gardening club, you know?"

Eddie nods. "Yeah, that could be fun―but we can't tell Candy or she'll make me go to the comic book tea parties and I don't think I can hear another Batman versus Superman fight again."

"Yeah," Jack agrees, "I don't think I can either―I mean, I might just actually start reading them, and who knows how many flowers will start dying by then?"

* * *

The car is silent.

Kim tightens her hands among the wheel, wrapping her small fingers around the black fabric, before she relaxes and lets out a breath. _What is going on with her? With_ them _? Why is this so awkward?_

The warm glow of the sun radiates against the car windows; it only looks to be around 3:45 PM. She barely glances at the small green clock, above the radio, as the gold shafts strike her eyes.

Jerry is quiet on the other side of the car. He sits facing the window, eyes rolling back and forth as he watches the cars on the other side of the highway. He hasn't said anything to her since they stopped for some gas, and it was just a muted "no" when she asked him if he wanted some water from the small convenience store. With distant eyes, he had looked at her, and it was just the strangest feeling. It was like he was looking at her, but his mind was somewhere else, like he wanted to be somewhere else―somewhere far from Kim. And that had hurt a little. Even now, he still looks just as distant, and maybe a little irritated, but she'll never know if she never asks―and she won't. She's already been treading on thin ice, very, very thin ice, and she doesn't exactly know how to ice-skate in the first place.

Cars, some red, some gray, and some black, stop before her―traffic―and Kim gradually removes her hand from the wheel and sits back.

 _Why isn't he talking to her? Talk t_ o me, she thinks, turning her head to face him. Quietly gazing out the window, Jerry doesn't notice her eyes. He has his head pressed against the black car seat and the gray seat belt across his chest. He looks a little like a curious toddler, eyeing and dissecting things. Small kids always spoke though, why doesn't he? But, most importantly, why does she care? She should be relaxing and letting the silence lull her into comfort, not asking for him to go on and on about whatever he wants to― _but she does!_ She misses him, she misses everything about him, and she wants him to fill her in on everything in the world, because they're best friends, they're best friends, and she loves the sound of his ridiculous commentary and generic slang. And yeah, she loves him _, like she loves all the other boys at the dojo._

The cars ahead of her trail slowly forward after another; the traffic is moving sluggishly. Kim places her hands on the wheel and pushes the car only two feet forward. It isn't that far ahead, but she's glad it's moving anyway. It's too much of a nice day to be stuck inside of this car and she can't wait to go out and walk about. Until then though, she isn't sure of what to do. Maybe they could listen to some music?

Kim leans forward in her seat, planting her hands on the small dial. She turns it, leisurely spinning it on her tips as she tries to find something she can listen to.

Different rhythms and sounds churn out of her speakers for a good few seconds, all interrupting each other in a very obnoxious and confusing way, until she hears a small noise beside her. Or a small voice. _Jerry's voice._

"What?" Kim looks at him, waiting on his response.

He shakes his head, softly, like a small tiny bird―one she wanted to crush in her hands because it never, ever, said anything to her. "Never mind," he mutters.

Irritated, she keeps her hand stoic on the dial. Her eyes do not move, they grow harsher, but they do not move. Kim waits patiently for the words to roll off her tongue like a nice person would do for any friend, before she bites at him. She doesn't necessarily understand why he's acting this way―and how did she not notice when he moved in―but there's always a reason, so she tries being extremely nice and passive about it. "No, what did you want to tell me?"

"Nothing." He shrugs, placing his hands under his chin, as he looks outside the window again. "It doesn't matter."

"Yes, it does, Jerry," she says a little more nicely than she thought she would, "come on, what is it?"

Gradually, like a bird stepping closer, he turns to her. And, it feels like she's messing with a hothouse flower. Don't say this, don't say that; she's fighting with her mind and her mouth again. She absolutely hates doing that and she won't, because ultimately her mouth matters most.

"What is it, Jerry!?" Kim leans further in.

Jerry flinches a little, but he finally opens his mouth. "I just wanted you to keep the radio station on―the one on right now."

"Oh." Kim removes her hand off the dial. He turns his head back to the window.

There's a small twinge of something rattling in her stomach, but she doesn't really spend time to decipher what it is. She leans back in her seat, settles into the warmth of the sun beside her, and never really removes her eyes off of Jerry. _She didn't have to snap at h―_ it doesn't matter right now. She presses her lips together, kicks her eyebrows to the top of her head, and pats her hands against her lap. _What can she do to get Jerry to talk? What does Jerry possibly love enough to start smiling or something?_ There was a whole file of things that he loved, most of those things being food, but she doesn't pick at them at all when she glides her eyes over to the dial. _Jerry loves dancing, he loves music,_ but he loves dancing. Placing her small hands onto the knob beside the one she turned a few minutes ago, she circles it in her fingertips until the volume is high enough to burst Jerry's fun little box open―or _at least_ hers―and then removes it.

" _So you grab your girls and you grab a couple more. . ."_

Kim snaps her fingers to the rhythm, bobbing her head left and right, as the music spills out of the speakers. Jerry still faces the windows.

" _Said the air is thick, it's smelling right. . ."_

She wraps her fingers into a fist and pounds them in the air against her chest as she arches her back and straightens it once more. Kim does it at least ten times in a row, in small controlled movements, before Jerry turns to look at her and see that she's attempting to either dance or have a heart attack. He's not really sure which, since both look entirely plausible, but either way, he thinks it's funny. Kim doesn't notice this until she opens her eyes and sees two brown irises looking at her and a lazy smile.

" _I wanna rock your body, please stay. . ."_

Kim begins pounding one fist to the side and kicking her leg beneath the dashboard softly, until Jerry begins to understand that she's dancing―not having a heart attack―so he smiles. But, Kim notices that it's a little bigger than usual, as if small sounds of laughter are in route, so she feels almost inclined to continue.

 _And she does,_ until Jerry starts laughing and he can't breathe anymore.

* * *

"I like these more," Eddie comments, flicking at a white packet listed as _Blue Boy Cornflower Seeds_.

It's a little after an hour since they've arrived from the boardwalk and into the closest home improvement or services local store. They had been walking a little aimlessly around the small aisles for a while, before they decided on packets, flowers to pick. It didn't help either that they really knew nothing about flowers or anything of that kind. Jack was only great at tending and taking care of them, but he wasn't too sure on the plant itself so when a small lady comes around and starts helping them pick things Jack is grateful. She's only a little smaller than him with white hair that falls to her arms, but she talks so much he wasn't even sure if her small body could handle it. Then again, she was very old―elders always have a lot to say from their experiences. Besides, it helped them; she's the only one who redirected them into this aisle where they could start their gardening pretty simple.

Jack faces her, handling two or three packets of his own in his hand. "Which one do I pick, I mean, I think they're both really nice but―"

"Get both," the lady answers simply, shrugging as she speaks, "cornflowers are very easy to grow, you just need to be careful to sow them properly is all. But getting two is always a blast because they're very, very pretty."

Jack and Eddie nod, facing the girl with as much radiance as she beams at them. The dark blue, red, purple, and white flower seeds shake in their hands as they jiggle the packets in their hands. It's been such a boring week so far, but this excites them to a whole other level―especially since Jack's never actually taken this serious before. He has two tulips standing beside his window, but he feels a little sorry for them when he sees them crane their leaves towards the sunlight. The thing is: he doesn't have anywhere to plant them―no greenhouse, no backyard, no front yard. He lives in an apartment... _he lives in an apartment―_

"Eddie!" He turns to face his smaller friend.

Eddie, himself, follows suit to the boy's actions. Looking slightly confused, he places the packets down in the small red cart. "What?"

"We don't have anywhere to put these flowers, remember? We live in an apartment," he tries to whisper, holding his friend in both his hands. The small packets slip through the gaps of his fingers as he holds him. They're in the middle of a narrow, but occupied aisle, and he's trying to have a private discussion with him. He realizes that his plan isn't well thought out, when the smaller-than-both-of-them old lady cranes her neck and faces them.

"I have a greenhouse...and a small garden out back," she supplies, lifting a shoulder as if she's asking.

Jack and Eddie look at each other for a moment, outweighing the pros and cons of sharing a greenhouse with an older lady, as well as hanging out with one, but they come up with nothing. They like talking to her mostly, and she isn't irritating. The only question is: wouldn't she already have no space to plant their own flowers? Besides, she might have other things to be doing than to hang out with a couple of adults who think they know everything there is to know. Jack shifts his eyes away for a second, trying to find the exact words to say to her without coming off defensive or anything like that. She's nice after all; offering something like this isn't exactly something everybody does.

"Oh, but, we wouldn't want to intrude or―" he tries to say, before she waves her hand in the air and shrugs at him.

"I'm offering because I have nothing else I'd rather be doing. I mean, I haven't gardened since _he_ died; honestly, I only came in here to check some stuff out. I wasn't expecting to want to garden again." She blinks at him as the side of her lip begins to resemble a smile.

Jack finds himself agreeing to her offer before she can fully smile at him. "Well, then I'd be glad to garden at your greenhouse...or your small garden out back," he gulps, pressing his lips together to the form of a smile.

"Yeah," Eddie adds, smiling from ear to ear, "I'm Eddie, by the way. He's Jack."

"Lily," she responds, ducking her head a little.

 _And then Jack smiles because the irony was a little heartwarming and he found it was probably the nicest name he's heard in a while._

* * *

Somewhere across the highway near the bay, Kim is a little surprised that it's been over two hours―or 3:00 to 5:56 PM to be exact―since she started driving. She had no idea that the traffic was going to be this bad, other wise she never would have left the house, especially since those "errands" she had to do weren't necessarily real. She just wanted to get out the house―with Jerry, or maybe for Jerry? Nonetheless, she couldn't believe she had been in this car for so long.

Facing the boy next to her, she sighs. "Are all pop hits this bad?"

" _Is it like the ocean? What devotion? Are you?"_

Jerry looks at her, blinking his eyes for a bit, until he nods his head. A small smile curls into his cheeks and he's laughing before Kim realizes what's funny, and then she does. And then it really is funny and she's laughing before she can stop herself.

"What? This song sucks, I'm sorry," she adds unapologetic, trying not to be as mean as she sounds―although who was she to care, she didn't make the song?

Jerry pulls a hand out from his gray hoodie, pale and smaller than she remembers, and places his tips on the round dial against the dashboard. It rolls around his fingers for a good while; different sounds and songs shift into one another as he changes the tunes. She finds that almost nothing on the radio is as good as it used to be, but everyone knows that already. It's not like it's really a surprise. Nonetheless, she sits patiently as the sounds roll over and over and it suddenly becomes comfortable to listen to. The sun no longer hovers through her window, it mostly falls along the horizon like a warm sea of orange and red. She can almost feel the heat sink into her car.

Cutting her thoughts off, Jerry stops rolling the small dial onto a very familiar song. He ducks his head as she watches him and murmurs, "sorry, I just hate that song."

Kim shakes her head, forming a small grin on her face. "No, it's okay."

She hears the rhythm falling through the speakers―base, drums, and some keyboard on each side of the car. She recognizes the music, it's familiar. Sticking out her hand out―this time with a little more piqued interest―she rolls the dial beside the radio and increases the volume. It's not until the music is loudly blaring on each side of the car that she recognizes the song, almost like an old child's tale, and begins to bounce, gradually increasing with the rhythm that rolls through her veins and blood.

" _Uh, but does she really wanna, but can't stand to see me_ _walk out the door..._

Jerry's murmuring the lyrics, quietly on the other side of the car. Tapping his fingers on his lap, he's almost entranced. She tries not to be too obvious that she's watching, dancing and keeping her line of vision to the side of her car, and then when he's really floating in his mind she'll look. _Oh god, why is it so hard to just look and talk to him now?_ This is so ridiculous; she doesn't even do this with Tyler.

"Alright," she huffs out loud, "dance."

Jerry faces her, a little confused on what she's talking about―or to. "What?"

"I said," she pulls his arm, gently, closer, "dance...―with me?"

 _Oh my god,_ why is she asking? Why is she being so demure about something that she wants and should have? Jerry is a dancing machine; a year ago, if she would have asked him to dance he would've pushed her aside and busted into some silly, but great, dance that he's created himself. She wouldn't have to soften her voice, stare at him in the eyes, and pretend that she isn't totally nervous with just doing that. _And why is she? He's just her best friend,_ even though he tends to be more fragile than usual. She doesn't have to―she shouldn't have to― _gosh, she's_ so irritated.

"I mean, you're Jerry, right?" Kim pushes further, leaning closer to the boy who sits beside her, who nods almost diligently. "Then dance! Pull some Martinez moves."

"Well, uh, I can't really dance―"

Kim blinks, then blinks again, and then blinks again. _Did he just say he can't dance? Is he joking or...? "Y_ ou're kidding, right? That's funny," she sneers, chuckling lightly.

Then, she notices he isn't laughing or smiling or anything for that matter. He's staring at her blankly, eyes a little glassy, but overall empty. And he said it with such honesty too, like he meant every syllable, but he was always good at lying. He was always―just like he was always joking around. Kim tries searching through his face to see if there's an ounce of one of those things, but there isn't. He really thinks he isn't that good at dancing anymore. _Are you serious? Are you― "J_ erry, you're amazing at dancing! Everything about the way you dance is great. You're enthusiastic, energetic, and fluid, and people can see that. _Don't_ , don't ever say that again. Not even as a joke, Jerry. I'll punch you right in the gut if you ever think about joking about something like that again. _You're, you're Jerry,_ dancing is yours, and only yours, that's what you were born to do. I mean―"

She presses her eyebrows together; she's mad―both angry and a little crazy. "Dance."

"What? Kim, I can't," he sputters, "I can't dance."

"Stop saying that!" Kim shoves his shoulders, and he flinches a little too quickly for her liking. "Dance. I want you to dance. Dance, however you like, but just dance."

" _You think you've got it, oh, you think you've got it..."_

Jerry turns from her, looking back at her again just to make she isn't joking, until he faces straight across the windshield. He doesn't really know how to get into the groove― _it's been a long time._ And her eyes on him don't really help, he's just left doing some weird light and dry version of her own bouncing. He's not really sure if he's even doing it right―perhaps she even dances better than him now.

Kim squeezes her eyebrows closer, before she presses a hand on his chest. He's a little scared she'll hit him, but she's soft when she lands. "Dance for real, Jerry. Dance from the heart."

" _But separate's always better when there's feelings involved..."_

And he thinks about that―about the way his heart feels. It's a little tired, a little hurt―well, a lot―but most of all, it feels shut. It feels shut in this small cage he put it in a while ago. When he broke up with Poppy, his heart hurt...a lot. He couldn't, can't, even think about her without getting this really bad pain in his chest, and then sometimes he couldn't breathe. _What was he supposed to do without her?_ She made him, she made every single part of him, and now she's gone―and so is all those little jagged parts. Poppy wasn't an exactly amazing person, but he could handle life with her around. He could live with her around. Now that she's not with him, and now that he's away, he doesn't know how he's going to do it. He knows he once could, and once again can, but he doesn't know how. She made him feel like he couldn't; she made him feel like a mess, she made him feel―... _like nothing_.

Kim rubs her hand on his shoulder. "Jerry?"

"Yeah," he answers, shaking his head, remembering why he left and why he should―needs―to be happy.

"Are you okay?" She continues to ask, a little more worried than she should probably be.

And he nods, he nods, and he starts to dance. It's silly little moves here and there, but they actually feel a little more genuine than the ones he tried to do earlier. There's a smile on his face too, maybe not as big as he'd like it, but it's also genuine. It's real, just like how he feels, _all of his feelings are real_.

" _Hey... ya, hey... ya, hey... ya, hey... ya..."_

 _He's dancing, it's not as big and as flamboyant as usual, but he's dancing,_ Kim notes. His movements are demure and simple, but they're energetic and fluid. She's smiling so wide that she feels her cheeks sting lightly, and her bouncing has moved off tempo―not like she was really in tempo to begin with. She pays so much attention to the boy sitting across from her, sliding his feet from the left to the right in the car, and his abysmal vocal cords floating through the air, that she's basically forgotten how terrible her dancing―and the traffic―is.

 _But, it's not like it bothers her. She wouldn't have it any other way._

* * *

They'd been moving things out of the small greenhouse for over two hours. Eddie and Jack didn't expect it to be as full as it had been when they began, but the sun was already setting by now. There were bags of old fertilizer, rusted tools, and ceramic bowls full of years old dirt; they couldn't even see light within the darkness until they removed everything there was to remove from the place. Nevertheless, the greenhouse looks really good, it was exhausting to accomplish, but it looks really good. They couldn't have expected the work to last long, but it really paid off in the end.

Lily stands before the doors, holding onto the left frame behind Eddie and Jack. She hasn't said anything since they've started to work on it hours ago, but she feels words rolling out of her tongue as she looks around the place. "It's good, it's really good."

Eddie and Jack turn to face Lily herself. Wrapped up in her yellow jacket that she hasn't removed yet, she walks in, rubbing her eyes as she looks up and sees the clouds in the skies. And then, she starts crying.

"You're happy," Eddie comments, grinning as always. Jack doesn't say anything, because Eddie's already said it, but he smiles at her anyway.

"Yeah, yeah," she replies, wiping the small tears from her face, "I just haven't been here in a while, but I miss this place, and it's so nice to see it like this. Thank you."

Jack and Eddie glance at each other, small little smiles―and grins, on Eddie's part. It's a little longer than their typical stares, especially since it looks like they're planning something. Lily doesn't know what it is yet, or if it's anything at all, but she sees the look they give each other. She sees the small steps they make towards her. Before she understands what they're doing or what they're attempting to do, they move at her side as if they were casually walking up to her. Her own brown eyes face up at them, wondering what their next move is or just what they're trying to do. Then quickly, suddenly, they jump at her, like two tiny cubs tackling their mama bear, wrapping their arms around her shoulder, hugging her.

"Oh gosh," she blurts, laughing as she holds her chin up, "okay, okay, are we working on these flowers or what?"

Then, Eddie and Jack release her, stepping out of her grasp, and into the narrow greenhouse they've cleared. There's some dust on the long, red, and faded counters arranged by the windows, aligned like the tables you see in front of a diner's front window, but it all looks good. It all looks good.

W _ho knew their man cave would be in the shape of this place?_

* * *

A little late in the night, around seven, Kim and Jerry have finally arrived to their destination―or at least, "errands." It had been a long drive, mostly due to traffic, but they had both welcomed the walking distance that was to come. Kim wasn't necessarily as happy as she thought she would be by it, since it had been a really, _really_ long drive and anyone would have been happy, but "anyone" hadn't been with Jerry in that car. Riding in that car with him was nice and a little better than she thought it was going to be, so to finally step out of the familiar little fun box was scary. She actually had a good time, a really, really good time. And it was nice to be with him again, even if it was over three hours stuck in a car with him. Now, she didn't know if things were going to get awkward again―she didn't know if she was going to lose what they had built.

Once she parked the car, there was just silence again. The lights were off, though the cars, buses, and buildings illuminated in the night, and it felt like he wasn't even in the car anymore―again. He wasn't even moving, the only thing she could hear was his breathing―that is, until, he spoke.

"I'm hungry," he mumbles, laughing at the odd declaration in the middle of silence.

Kim smiles, turning to face him, though she could only see the edge of his nose and his eyes. "Well, what do you want to eat? Come on, it's on me―"

Jerry shakes his head, his teeth glistening as he grins. "Nah, it's okay. I'll pay―"

Kim shakes her head much like he had, only her smile is wider and she looks a little bolder. _She wasn't going to let him pay when she had just said she'll pay―and Kim never pays for anyone, including herself sometimes, so if she's going to pay then at least let her. "_ Jerry, don't worry about it, I'll pay―"

"Kim, girl, I―"

"No, Jerry, come on―"

"―you don't have to, I―"

"―Jerry! Just let me pay! I want to pay for you," she suddenly sputters, leaning forward, "I haven't seen you in forever; I want to treat you."

Jerry turns his head downward, and Kim thinks she sees small tints of pink sprinkling his face, but all she can truly see is his eyes, nose, and curl of his hair. If she could see his smile then surely she'd be able to catch the tints of crimson on his cheek. _He's blushing; oh my goodness, he's blushing._

"You don't have to do that, Kim," he mumbles, struggling to look at her.

She giggles, shaking her head at him. He was such a guy sometimes―such a guy. "Jerry, you're my best friend. I'm going to do things like this for you, because I care about you. And when people care about you, they do nice things."

"Yeah, well, sometimes, they don't," he replies, flashing his eyes at her as if there was more to that statement. And Kim didn't like that it seemed like there was.

"Well, then they don't care about you." Kim faces him, pressing her hand on his shoulder. "Because if someone cares about you, and I mean, really cares about you, then they will always do nice things for you―always."

Jerry is quiet in his seat after that, tearing his face away from hers, and solemnly sitting in his seat. The lights from the buildings, cars, and buses swirl around them, and she can feel them heat up the car slowly. It was a little breezy in the morning, but as the day passed before them, it grew a little colder―not as cold as winter in states far away from here―but cold. However, she could feel the lights, and the condensed air in the car, as well as Jerry's smile heat her up. And it felt nice, she liked it.

"Now, come on, let's get some food," she gingerly adds, lifting the door handle as she pushes it open. Quickly stepping her boots out on the smooth cement, she lifts her head and faces the other side. Kim smiles to see Jerry, and he beams at her under the moonlight.

It's a strange feeling to _actually_ feel love vibrate through your bones, swimming through your head, but it's there―she loves him. _She loves Jerry._

* * *

 **AN:**

 **What did you think? What did you like most about this chapter? What did you like least? What constructive criticism do you have? And how does that disrupt the flow of the story? What do you think happened to Jerry? What do you think is happening to Kim?**

 **I like to make sure my writing is clear to you. I like to make sure you're not having a difficult time as you read. I also want to make sure that as readers I'm listening to you guys. Earlier a specific reader, optimistic girl94, told me that one of my paragraphs were really big and I had to cut it in half. As I proofread this chapter, I tried to cut some paragraphs in half but I couldn't see which ones were necessarily too big and others that were just normal for a book. However, I'll try to cut it in half if I see that it's too big on the actual web page.**

 **And, there I go babbling again. Sorry, I just feel like there's a lot I want to tell you guys and not enough space to say it. I'm really glad you guys liked the first chapter, I worked really hard on it and it's nice to see positive feedback - but don't hold back from criticism either. I can be very objective with my work if I have to be so go on and leave comments if you wish. But, thank you, thank you, thank you for the comments. You guys are too sweet and I smile until my face stings when I read your comments.**

 **Okay, okay, I'll stop talking, I promise. I'll stop.**


	3. The Boyfriend Problem

**AN:**

 **I have no excuse for how long I've been gone. Mostly, I blame procrastination and then the rest can go along with school and all that, but I kept avoiding this chapter like the plague.**

 **Anyway, I'm back, so let's just focus on that.**

 **In this chapter, I think I wanted to make it clear as to why Kim never really hangs out with the boys anymore. These past few chapters, past three chapters, have been solely focused on Kim and Jerry and then everybody else. I thought it was really weird why I never explained, or why it was never spoken of, as to why Kim never hangs out with the boys that much. Nonetheless, that's what I chose to explain in this chapter, along with a different story of the boys placed into the chapter as well.**

 **Moreover, I wanted to talk about marriage and why, for me, it is a big deal. Even if I'm still very young and have a lot of time left, the people in this story, who are now twenty-three or twenty-two, aren't. Marriage is evident throughout the story, with Rudy, who has a fiance, Eddie, and Milton. I thought it was time to talk about marriage and establish what I, not everyone, believes. I hope I don't make any of you think that marriage is supposed to be this and that―marriage is a decision that you make for yourself. Though I am highly traditional in most of my beliefs, I would never want to force anyone to thinking a certain way or thinking a certain belief. I cannot do that for anyone; you have free will, you can believe what you want to believe.**

 **As you all can tell, I probably sound highly religious―I am in deep relationship with God―but I will always believe that everyone should be entitled to their opinions. Nobody should ever be forced into thinking certain things―that's not how God would want it.**

 **Anyway, continue onto the story. This isn't about me, and I talk too much.**

* * *

3.  
The Boyfriend Problem

* * *

It's Saturday afternoon, on the beginning of November, when Kim shuffles into the living room.

She has her hands wrapped around a boy, one with light brown hair, blue eyes, and an almost irresistible smile that flips her stomach. Fiddling with her hands behind his neck, Kim squeezes her fingers together, rubbing them against his skin.

Tyler, as ever charismatic and dazzling as he is, leans down and watches her slowly unravel before him. He notices that each time it's the same, when she smiles against him her eyes glow, but once he whispers something a little alluring against her ear she's blushing like a strawberry underneath the sun. Sloppily hooking his hands around her waist, he tilts and ducks his head to meet the curve of her lips and kisses her as tenderly as he can. She's extremely quick to bring him closer once he's backed away, even if it's not that far.

"It's been like five weeks since I've seen you," he tells her, grinning against her lips, "I miss you."

Kim clasps her fingers on the back of his gray shirt as tightly as she can. Urging him closer, she curls her heels upward to meet his mouth. She hadn't intended to be busy these past few weeks, but work was strenuous and demanding. And, then there was also Jerry, who she spent last week with. If she wasn't at work then she was with him. Demands always had to be met―especially important ones. "I'm sorry, work was busy," she replies, moving her hands to the back of his neck, "But, I'm here now?"

Tyler tilts her head back with the force of his next kiss, slow and ardent, but still just as tender. "Yeah, and I plan on taking you out tonight."

"Oh really?" Kim raises an eyebrow, before she takes in him again. Brushing her cheek against his, she gently tilts her head up and curls her fingers through his hair. The movement, the way she threads her hands through his hair, is probably not as soft as she thinks, but she can't help but react that way when she's in his arms again. It's been too long; she misses him.

"Hey, Kim, do you have any―" Jerry begins, standing in the front of the hallway, facing the shiny, glowing DVD case in his hand―some video game, she thinks?

Tyler turns his head just as Kim does. However, Kim shuffles out of his hands, almost as if she had been caught by her parents. The boy beside her doesn't really think much of it, even though he already misses the warm feeling of having her hands run through his hair, so he's quiet as he puts his hands in his pants. The guy in front of him might have been the new friend she was moving in with, except she didn't really tell him it was a guy and, much less, a slightly just as attractive as Tyler guy―not that he believes that or anything.

Kim leans on one foot, her arms crossed and eyebrows knitted, but eyes all too anxious. "Yes, Jer, I have plans."

Jerry looks up and sees the knitted eyebrows on her face and the quiet boy standing next to her. It takes him a few seconds to connect the dots and realize that he should probably greet them since it's basic manners, but he doesn't take long to respond―though it's not like he really does. "Oh, uh," he mutters, his shoulders tensing.

"This is Tyler," Kim finally says, planting her hand on his left arm, "he's my boyfriend."

Tyler nods and then sticks his hand out. Jerry flickers his eyes between his hand and his glare, trying to decipher if this guy is capable of twisting his hand twice over if he shakes his hand, but eventually throws his hand out and shakes it anyway. If Tyler did twist his hand then it wouldn't matter anyway; Kim was probably just as strong as him―and boy if Jerry made the situation awkward would she get irritated.

"Nice to meet you..." Tyler trails off, facing Kim as if he was waiting for her to say something.

"Oh." She shakes out of her crossed arms. "This is Jerry, my roommate―"

Jerry gasps, almost exaggeratedly, as if he was offended.

"―and best friend," she adds, taking note of the expression on his face. He quickly relaxes.

Tyler, on the other hand, notices the shiny, glimmering DVD case in his hand and the green frame that it's in. Kim isn't sure if she sees his blue eyes light up or if he's just so excited that it seems like it, but she immediately senses a problem before he does. She can see certain letters from her angle, like _F, L, U, T_ , and a _4_ ― _Flut 4_? But, she doesn't see the actual name of the game so she ignores the ridiculous thing, until her boyfriend takes the initiative to actually ask about it―to which then she realizes that it's an early premonition and she should have just skipped over Jerry and just left.

"Is that Fallout Four?" Tyler points to the case, eyes glowing.

"Yeah, man, I got it today. I heard it was gonna come out almost weeks ago and I had to get it. It's crazy, did you hear―"

"Yeah, and the graphics are so clean―"

"―explore all over the place, it's―"

"I heard, it's gonna be awesome―"

"It is," Jerry quips, nodding as he passes over the green DVD case.

Tyler holds it in his hand as if it were a baby and gazes at it as if it were the most beautiful thing he's ever seen―as if it were Kim. "Can I play? I mean―"

"Yeah, come on, man―" Jerry quickly replies, moving about almost naturally towards his side. Kim lifts an eyebrow at him momentarily, crossing her arms as if to reprimand him. He takes a small moment to decipher the look on her face, and quickly understands, because as always he was too quick on his feet and not on his mind. "Nah, I can't do that. I mean, you and Kim came to spend some time together; I wouldn't want to ruin that. That's just not cool, man."

"But it's fine―right, Kim?" Tyler turns to her, his eyes as soft as dandelions. _Now, what the heck is she supposed to do? She can't say no!_

And slowly, but surely, she begins to nod, even against her own wishes. "Oh yeah, it's okay, it's totally fine."

Taking her response in, Tyler, and then, Jerry follow with excitement, cheering all the way down the hallway. Snickers and laughter echo right behind them and Kim begins to feel something familiar swimming up her chest and head―anger probably. Except, this time she doesn't exactly feel like punching something, she feels like moping, like―like sitting in her bed and thinking about how he was supposed to choose her.

 _No_ , she is not sad, and _no_ , she is not disappointed. And most of all, she is certainly not jealous. Not at all.

* * *

Sunday morning arrives abrupt; Jack can barely feel it coming until it does. As an adult, days aren't always like that―that's something he's recently learned. Days are as slow as they could ever be when you're older. Thus, on days where the sun rises fast, Jack has developed the ability to really seize the day. He gets up earlier than usual, exercises for at least two hours, finishes any coursework, and attends to the dojo. The beginning of the week is always the easiest place to sleep on―literally, it is the easiest place to sleep on, especially for Eddie who's planted on the small wooden bench taking a nap.

Nonetheless, Jack enjoys seizing the day, so he usually prepares for it. His friends, however, never really do.

"Gah!" He hears behind him, like a loud bird sticking its head out of a grandfather clock. Of course, it's Milton, but it's not any less annoying than it is from a clock.

"What?" He turns his head, trudging over to him with exhaustion. He doesn't know how he deals with his friend's tendencies half of the time, but he guesses it's his strong will and the bond, or friendship ties, that stick them all together. After all, they're family, always will be.

Facing him with wide eyes and a shriveled grimace, Milton throws his hands out before him. "I'm so tired of Grace. One day, she's mad at me and the next, she wants a foot massage. I never know what to expect with women. And frankly, I'm tired of her feet, they smell like old fish."

Jack laughs a little, rubbing his left eye. "What happened?"

"She says that all I do is watch medical documentaries and I never want to spend time with her―which isn't true because sometimes I like watching medical series too," Milton replies, slumping his shoulders as he speaks. Jack would have felt a little bad for him, but he didn't really know what it was like to smell fish feet. His girlfriend's feet smelled like...well, feet. He was used to it.

"Well then, why don't you spend some time with her?" Jack simply suggests.

Suddenly, Milton laughs, his hands on his stomach and his eyes shut. Jack doesn't get what's so funny, so he looks around to see if he missed something. It's not until Milton sticks his finger at him until he realizes that he's laughing at him―of course. But, he was being completely serious. It doesn't take that long until Milton notices that―until Milton notices that Jack truly knows nothing about marriage and why "spending time" with his wife was not so simple.

"Oh, you're being serious?" The redheaded boy stares. "You seriously believe in "spending time" together? Could you be any more obtuse?"

"What?" Jack's eyebrows squish together.

"Wow, you―hey, Eddie, come over here! Jack offered marital advice," Milton continues to pester, the edges of his mouth curving upward. Jack didn't really know what was going on, but he did have a major issue with Milton wasting his time and making fun of him. Just because Milton was inching closer to his doctorate didn't mean Jack's advice was any stupider, besides he knew a couple things about marriage―even if he wasn't married. Or at least, he'd like to think so.

Eddie bowls over as he walks toward the two men. His laughter must have been the most obnoxious sound Jack has heard today, along with Milton's. "He what? Seriously?"

"Yeah!" Milton walks over to Eddie's side, both men dressed in white karate gis. "I don't think he understands the amount of organic manipulation women have in their bones. You never take what they say literally; there is always a hidden meaning in their words. When Grace talks about me watching medical documentaries, it's because she wants to potentially stop me from watching documentaries so she can watch TV. Duh, Jack."

Both of Jack's eyebrows rise. "What?"

Eddie chuckles lightly, before placing his hands on Jack's shoulder. His eyes show small sympathy, but his smile says otherwise―they were trying to patronize him. "Candy is always encouraging me to drink coffee in the morning, because she says it helps to wake me up. Do you think she's being helpful, Jack? Do you?"

"Uh, yeah," Jack answers, shrugging his shoulders. He didn't really know what to say about any of this.

Immediately, Eddie and Milton throw their heads back in laughter. The smaller boy, the one with the darker, smoother skin, plants his hands on his friend's shoulder. The solidarity was strong between the two and Jack was a little irritated. "Oh, you are so naive," Milton comments.

"Candy almost always steals all of my coffee. I only have a sip before the rest of it is gone and I'm still tired when I go to work. She's not being helpful, Jack―"

"She's being manipulative," Milton adds again, before both him and Eddie take steps beside Jack to head onto the dock.

For some reason, Jack had never felt so offended, excluded, and disappointed in his life. And, it was the most strangest combination of feelings he's ever had in his life―including when he met Tiffany.

* * *

 _It's still a little close to Sunday morning when Kim finds that she doesn't like Tyler hanging around Jerry anymore._

They had hung out all day yesterday. There wasn't a moment where Tyler spoke to her the whole day. He and Jerry loomed through the hallway most of the day, getting snacks from the kitchen, using the bathroom, or getting some water, though nonetheless, both boys never batted her an eye. Tyler almost forgot she existed and Jerry had found a new best friend in her boyfriend. It was almost incredible how quickly those two bonded too. They're texting each other now, sending little emojis probably to explain how ecstatic they feel over meeting each other―it was annoying. She hated it―she hated them.

Today, the day she was supposed to wake up and find Tyler texting her about how amazing it was to be with her, out and about, last night, was not that day and it just felt like any other day. And, it hurt, because she had fallen asleep from waiting for him the other day and she never does things like that for anyone―waiting. He didn't even tell her when he left and, _yeah_ , she was mad, really mad. She was so mad that when Jerry walked into the kitchen in the morning to make some omelets she couldn't even talk to him...at all.

"Morning Kim," he mumbles, pushing his hands through his wavy hair, all tousled and stuff.

Kim didn't say anything, but most of all, Jerry didn't notice. He was looking at his phone, scrolling through his i-Message, and probably looking at a Tyler text. Then, he laughs, he moves his hair back out of his face and laughs. _How dare he? She hated him so much...momentarily, but it was real._

"Tyler's awesome, man," he continues, pressing a whole bunch of letters, before he looks up. "Oh, and he said he's sorry about the other night. He didn't mean to leave so late without talking to you, but he's really happy he came over anyway. Met me and―"

Then, the phone dinged again, and he left her eyes. Kim hated something about that too. As a matter of fact, she hated how it made her feel. But, she couldn't say anything.

She opened her mouth, with all these mean stuff in mind, and then suddenly, nothing came out. Her mind is blank. All she can truly remember is how she feels and how that, in turn, hurts her even more, but Kim can't say anything, because when it came to the true stuff―things about emotions and stuff―it was harder to push out now. She wasn't really the same girl who would talk about how she feels and go on and on about how it hurts. Ever since she started doing real world things like work and paying the bills, emotions became harder to express when she realized that the world does not care about her―nor how she feels. In the real world, you just have to go about your day and hope that it goes away.

Consequently, when Jerry decides to lift his head, Kim is already in her bedroom―hoping that the feeling, whatever stupid thing it is, goes away and that it never comes back.

* * *

"Yeah, and then she told me―" Milton has started to say, sticking his pointed finger against his chest.

Eddie looks like he had been listening to him for a good while. He was probably telling him one of his exaggerated stories―some time around twenty minutes ago of this Monday, just when they had arrived. There isn't really a point to make with that statement, Jack notices, it's just the fact that Milton had been talking and now suddenly he's stopped. Both, he and Eddie, have stopped talking and are both turned to face Jack. He expected they would apologize― as they should, they were obnoxious the other day.

"What you guys talking about?" Jack begins, keeping his hands in the pockets of his white gi. Sometimes he preferred the gi on a rougher day, but it never prepared him for this nonsense really.

Milton, also in a white gi and a―finally―black belt, turns to Jack. "Oh nothing. It was something you wouldn't―" he stifles a laughter, coughing to hold it a little, "really get."

Eddie turns to Jack, but his smile doesn't help ease that something is a little off here. He just glances at Milton and then at Jack, before he excitedly says, "yeah."

Jack folds his arms across his chest. He doesn't really get these two. After Saturday, he was expecting a small apology or something. _Why were they still trying to patronize him?_ It's ridiculous, whatever bond or thing they have, about being the only married two. It's obnoxious and, to be honest, it wasn't _that_ different from being in a long-term relationship. "You know what? That's it. I don't understand why you guys have to make me feel stupid just because I'm not married. It's not _that_ different from long-term relationships―"

" _That_ different?" Milton's head leans forward.

"From relationships?" Eddie continues, opening his wide eyes in confusion.

"Yeah," Jack replies, nodding, before he smoothly walks in between them. Both stand there a bit confused, and surprised, even as Jack makes a complete turn to face them. Milton takes a while to settle all his thoughts and try to process if Jack truly said what he said, but he did. He really did.

"Relationships are completely different from marriage. In marriage, there's promise, there's commitment. In marriage, you can't just fight and decide to walk out the door for the night, because you guys own the same bed and have to sleep in it―"

"Yeah, and that's not that different from long-term relationships. We do that too," Jack continues to press. His eyebrows stand at the top of his hand as he tries to ease away his anger.

"Yeah, but marriage is forever, Jack. You can't take a break or give up, because you're married and divorce finalizes everything. In a relationship, you guys can break up and that's it, both of you move on. But, in marriage, you have to grow up a little. Both of you change and the way you guys talk to each other change," Eddie tells him, with a look that almost seems earnest and genuine. But, he still wasn't really moved; Jack could believe a whole other things, but not this.

"Yeah, and that's really the only difference from long-term relationships," Jack adds.

"No, Jack. It's much more than that. Marriage is magical, extremely infuriating, but it's real. You guys, sort of, become one, just this one person, not two, who totally understands themselves. You know everything about your spouse―from the inside out. You know their intentions and their thoughts and what they want―and it's annoying and it makes you mad, but it's magical. I'm not going to lie; long-term relationships share some things with marriage, but they're completely different," Milton replies, with a look almost as earnest as Eddie, except he wasn't really staring at Jack―he was kind of in the moment.

"Yeah, and marriage, kind of, is a lot better. I think I feel more comfortable than I did when I was in a relationship," softly, Eddie remarks.

Jack doesn't really know what to say, but he doesn't know if he was really prepared for a full speech. Some of what they said was a little nice and he definitely had a slight change in perspective, but it didn't mean they were better than, or at least, smarter than him just because they knew a little more. And anyway, this all started because they couldn't stop being extremely obnoxious.

"How could you think that they're one in the same? I mean, I'm sorry we were a little obnoxious on Saturday―"

"A little?" Jack asks, but not really. He's totally confident in the answer.

"Okay, a lot, but marriage and long-term relationships are totally different. There's a lot more work to maintain one and you just don't know that yet―no offense―so don't take it personally when we find it funny," the redhead says, before taking a small turn and heading for the lockers, along with Eddie.

Jack doesn't really have much to say about that, and it bothers him a little.

* * *

It's only a little while until Wednesday evening comes around―and Kim still feels extremely bitter.

She's been watching television on the couch for almost an hour. She doesn't even remember the past few shows that have passed and she is beyond bored. Her mind, on the other hand, isn't. She's been thinking so much about what happened with Tyler and Jerry―and how they're still texting now, yet Tyler hasn't sent her text message since Sunday. Normally, she'd call and start a fight just blaming it on being extremely moody and having nothing else to do with her emotions since she could never express herself right. But, recently, she's realized that that's a little petty and ridiculous. There were more ways than just starting a fight to talking about a problem and she was too tired to even do it anyway.

Moreover, she's more mad at Tyler than Jerry. Tyler's her boyfriend, he's the one who is supposed to know about her and talk to her. And yet, she didn't know why she couldn't tell Jerry and just explain everything. She kind of hated not talking to him as much as she hated him right now. During boring afternoons like this, he was always the first person to keep her entertained until the clock struck midnight. _She missed her friend already._

 _Wow_ , she shakes her head, _that's strange_. Well, it's strange, but it's true; Kim likes talking to him. As a matter of fact, she _loves_ talking to him.

"What you watching?" Jerry suddenly asks, throwing her out of her thoughts. He's standing in the middle of the living room, hovering over her, until he takes her leg underneath the green blanket and sits under it.

Kim had been laying on the couch, quietly, just watching anything that came her way. Her legs were piled on top of each other, warm underneath the blanket, especially warm now that he was under them. All she was, is, wearing is a thick yellow long sleeved sweater, or hoodie, and leggings. Her head is in a lazy bun. Jerry, on the other hand, was just wearing gray sweatpants and a white t-shirt. His hair was tousled in his face, but it looked pretty shiny and healthier than she had seen in a while. _Looks like he's finally taking care of himself,_ Kim notes― _good_.

"Nothing," she mutters, but it's really icy when it slips her tongue. Jerry notices.

"Are you sure?" He continues to pester, trying to be as gentle but forward as he can even if it was really hard to do.

"Yes, Jerry," Kim replies, but this time it isn't really icy, it just sounds annoyed. Jerry doesn't know what to do, other than address the situation at hand, but he's kind of scared she'll snap at him if he even asks. She was extremely scary when she wanted to be, so he gets up and just decides it's better to leave.

He really doesn't want to encounter her when she's angry and, even if it bothers him intensely, he'll give her her space. However, at the very least, he had to say something before he went the other way―anything. "Uh," he begins, already once again standing in the middle of the living room, "I don't know what I did, but I'm sorry. I'm sorry I did what I did and I'm sorry I keep messing up. It's―I just don't want you to be mad at me, Kim. You shouldn't be―I shouldn't keep bothering you."

Kim doesn't say anything, but her mind keeps telling her to. Her mouth just won't open.

Jerry looks at her for a few seconds, trying to see if she'll at least yell at him or something, but she doesn't. He figures she's more than just mad at him―she's disappointed, and something stings in his chest and his eyes when he realizes that. And as he turns and walks into the hallway, he feels like a heavy bag has just dropped onto his shoulders again. _That's why she left me,_ he thinks, _that's why everyone leaves._

And Kim still can't find it in her to say anything, even as he takes a turn into the hallway and out of her vision. She feels her heart burn a little; _it's okay, Jerry, just stop apologizing._

She just doesn't get why she can't tell him.

* * *

Jack had been thinking about it all day yesterday―of marriage, long-term relationships, and the differences.

He was so interested that he even talked to Rudy about it, but he had only told him that one cost more money then the other and that it was just better to stay in a long-term relationship. However, his opinion didn't get any more complex than that―it just led back to expenses and how you didn't really need to get married to be happy, which was true. You can be happy without getting married, but Jack didn't want to know about that. He wanted to understand what Milton and Eddie were saying―about marriage and how it feels so magical or something, because he might have wanted a little of that feeling, of that magic.

Therefore, he asked his parents when he went to visit them. It was Wednesday, is Wednesday, and usually he spends this afternoon doing coursework at the dojo, but he really wanted to address this― _ew, address this? Man, he is getting old._

Anyway, he tries to talk to them in the evening, right in the middle of lunch, when they're sitting around the dark brown table. While the sun beams from the outside of the window, right across from Jack, there's a certain silence that sits in the room. It's almost as if he decides to think over whether it's worth asking, moving his eyes over to the dark cabinetry in the corner of the room with china plates that he doesn't recognize―he assumes his mom recently added it. Though slowly, but surely, he dips his fork into the white plate and raises his head.

"Hey mom," he starts, fiddling with his food, "what's the difference between marriage and long-term relationships? Is it really that much of a big deal?"

"Well," his mom turns to his father, her short wavy hair glimmering under the sunlight, "I think it is, for me, personally. I'm a little surprised you ask, why?"

"I don't know. I just feel like they're the same thing. You're both living together under the same roof for a long time, you're both dealing with each other for a long time, and you both have nowhere to go after a fight instead of the couch." Jack turns to his dad, who looks too tired to be having this discussion in the evening. He shrugs his shoulders when Jack turns away from him. "What's the difference?"

"Well," his father suddenly speaks, "in a long-term relationship, you're being too stagnant and comfortable with yourself. If you could push yourself to become the best person you could be, you would, most people do―but not all, just like certain relationships. Couples get very comfortable with not evolving, with not pushing at their relationship, and not fulfilling what could be the best part of you both together. Never get comfortable in love, Jack―always push until you find more."

After that, the dining room gets quiet. You could hear just the smallest creak from how silent it was, because mostly Jack was thinking about it. He was thinking about fulfillment―and how it rung true. Something always felt like it was missing with Tiffany, like there had to be more than just living together―and it was real. He _had_ been getting too comfortable with her.

Even if he wasn't ready for marriage, and would take a long time, at least he knew why he felt that he was missing something. And it wasn't with Tiffany, because he was absolutely in love with her―it was because he knew he had to push at something, he just didn't know what.

Swallowing the fish from his fork, Jack turned to his father. "Okay, I think I get it."

"Great," his father replies, before slumping forward to eat.

His mother, on the other hand, just looks at his father with a small, subtle smile. She didn't say anything after, but she did leave a light kiss on his cheek when Jack when to go wash his dish. And for some reason, he thinks he gets the marriage thing a little now.

* * *

It's on a late, quiet Thursday night when Kim decides she doesn't want to be bitter anymore.

She sitting in front of a large window sill at the very side of her bed, where she can see all the cars drive by, one by one, all solitary. She assumes it's so late in the night that many are already home, but, nonetheless, it's incredibly comforting to see the streets almost empty. In the dark, cloudless sky, she finds a strange feeling that been sitting in her stomach―loneliness.

Wrapping the orange duvet of the bed around her shoulders, she lies on her side. _What's going on with me?_

She doesn't get why she can't just tell Jerry what's wrong. She's usually so vocal about everything, but when it came to matters of the heart, she couldn't even speak. She remembers when he went in her room and took her things―that never hit her personally, just physically. She felt disrespected and that was a whole other topic. She could go on and on about something that disrespected her, because it was never something she had to open up about―dig and pick at her emotions about. She could get mad and loud―and that was always so easy―but to get sad or jealous and have to dig at herself to explain was...scary. She couldn't tell Jerry she was jealous and sad, especially since it was so petty and it made her uncomfortable.

She could never be vocal about something she hated. _She hated jealousy_ and she hated _being petty._ Moreover, she hated that it ate at her and she couldn't do anything to stop it.

But, tonight, those feelings―that feeling―seemed to simmer away. She isn't really bitter and jealous that Tyler is totally ignoring her anymore; she's mad at him―and she's comfortable with that. However, she felt lonely. She couldn't remember the last time she felt this lonely―not ever since Jerry came around.

 _She can't even remember the last time she visited the dojo_ , visited the boys. It's been so long. And she guesses that Tyler made it easy to avoid her boys, avoid those _feelings―avoid Jack._ Ever since they broke up, she couldn't even look at him in the eye, and it's not like she still liked him. It was more like she felt so disappointed in herself that she would avoid all of her friends, even Jack, because it didn't work out―they didn't work out. Now, she didn't know how to go back; she, especially, didn't know how to talk to Jack, like they used to, again. He calls her, on some days, but it's a little awkward and it's not really the same. It's been two years and it really doesn't feel the same.

 _She can't let that happen with Jerry. Not him._

Lifting her head out of the duvet and toward the small bedside table, she extends her body toward the corner of the bed. Her phone was plugged into the outlet, it's been charging since she arrived from work two hours ago. She thinks she's heard it vibrate about four times, but she doesn't remember since she's been moping about for such a long time.

Taking the large thing in her hands, she types in her pass code and takes a look at the messages she's been left since she's decided to mope. The light that beams from the phone causes her to back away for a few seconds until her eyes adjust to the light; she has five messages in her inbox―one from her dad, two from Tyler that have just arrived, one from her mom, and one from―...Jack?

Sighing a little, Kim clicks the first one. She couldn't stand her dad, especially when she just got out of work, but he was always persistent with his text messages.

Dad  
 _Have something important to talk about. Call tomorrow._

 _Great,_ she huffs, _like I need that right now._

Tyler  
 _Hey babe. Really want to talk._

Kim couldn't even find an ounce of patience left in her. If he wanted to talk then he could always call, why was he always trying to find the easy way out instead of understanding that he screwed up and that it takes a lot of work to fix some mistakes? She wasn't even going to answer him. If he wants to talk then he should call, otherwise, she wasn't even going to answer.

Tyler  
 _I'm sorry babe. Should've called you a long time ago._

 _Yeah, okay, whatever,_ Kim tells herself as she rolls her eyes. Opening up the next few messages, she feels a little better about these ones. Her mom was always checking up on her and Jack was always trying to reach her; he never seemed to give up on her even as she did. For some reason, that made her feel guilty and happy all the same.

Mom  
 _Hey honey! : ) How are you? We're hosting a family get together this weekend. Call me._

She'd make sure to call her mother tomorrow morning―if she even remembered. Her mother was a little annoying if she didn't attend family gatherings, or if she even avoided her text messages at all.

Jack  
 _Hey, how are you? You should come by the dojo. I know you're busy with work, but we miss you. I miss you._

Kim felt her heart tug a bit, because, in all honesty, Jack didn't deserve that. He didn't deserve her and all her avoidance. She didn't understand why she couldn't just visit, for just ten minutes, especially when she didn't feel anything anymore. She's over it, she's been over it for years, and yet it's so hard to talk to him―to look at him. She couldn't imagine keeping that up forever. She couldn't imagine never being able to see him, or Milton, or Eddie, or―or Rudy! She just couldn't, especially Jerry― _most importantly Jerry._

* * *

The next Sunday morning, Jack entered the dojo with a little bit of clarity.

After that Thursday evening, when he spoke with his parents, Jack really thought about it. He thought about Milton and Eddie and their comments. He thought about why it shouldn't have really offended him; he didn't know anything about marriage. He had been in two long-term relationships―Kim and Tiffany―but he never really thought about marriage...until now.

He could see himself marrying Tiffany, he could see himself having kids with her, and he could see himself living with her until they get old. Not a moment of hesitation or reluctance was on his mind. It didn't mean that they would get married soon, it was more like he could see it happening somewhere in the future―somewhere deep in the future. Moreover, he wasn't anxious or nervous about it, when it would happen it would just happen.

On the other hand, he doesn't know why he never felt that way about Kim. Kim was his first love, and yet, he couldn't see himself marrying her. She was everything he couldn't stand in some people in just one person. And, he loved that about her―still does, but he couldn't see it as clear as he thought he could. Consequently, right after that revelation, he found himself breaking up with her. And, it hurt, but it was necessary, because it―they―were going nowhere.

Kim was broken after that. He broke her. She didn't want to see him, talk to him, even be close to him, and eventually, she just disappeared. Not that Jack never saw her, because sometimes he'd hear that Milton called her and she said hi or that Eddie invited her to a party, but she always left early. It was like she was near, but always fleeting, and it hurt; Kim was a friend first, and a girlfriend second. He thought they would evolve from this and be able to be friends still.

To this day, he only ever talks to her through text. She never wants to see him. It hurts, but he'll live―eventually.

And, as all this passes, he's sitting at the smoothie bar. Taylor isn't here since she's on break, but he typically sits here when he has coursework to do or needs to relax. Right now, he's doing some _science-human-body_ thing. He's withdrawing into his head a lot as he does it, but he notices Milton and Eddie at the door. They seem to be talking about something silly and redundant, he assumes. Those two never had any kind of normal conversation―ever. But, he thinks he might appreciate that. Sometimes, it was nice to talk about aliens and zombies after a long day, or even marriage and womanly manipulation.

He guesses you only get used to it after a while, much like marriage itself.

* * *

 **AN:**

 **And...done!**

 **Did you enjoy it? Did you find some parts difficult to read? Were there grammar mistakes or spelling errors? Is Kim inconsistent or out of character? Does Jack seem out of character? List any complaints that you have and I will always listen―and reply. What do you like the most about this chapter? What did you like the least? Were you uncomfortable with the topic this week? Let me know. I love to be aware about my audience and listen. You can never improve unless you correct and take in other's suggestions.**

 **Never be afraid to leave some constructive criticism in the reviews. Never be afraid to make them lengthy either. I love long reviews and I love little reviews. I love all of them!**

 **As you can see, I'm a little bit too excited. Let me calm down now, haha.**


	4. The Trust Predicament

**AN:**

 **I really don't want to add any more words to the growing thousand, but I wanted to say hello.**

 **It's been a l _oooo_ ng time. I mean, long. At first, I couldn't write because I thought about all the work I had to do and it would just exhaust me, but then it just became a chore because I realized I didn't want to disappoint my readers. What if my writing changed? What if it isn't good anymore? I couldn't stand the idea of that so I just avoided it entirely. That and another reason that I'm still working on, but anyway...**

 **I realized that it's just ridiculous expecting myself to _always_ deliver. Sometimes my writing may suck and it'll hurt, but if I want to get better. If I want to do something that I love _right_ and _accurately_ then I have to be willing to not always deliver. I have to be willing to criticism. I'm not perfect so neither will my writing be. Sometimes I'll read over my story like ten times and I won't even notice a spelling mistake. My eyes are horrible in that way and so will my writing be because I'm not perfect. **

**I say all this for the people out there who are afraid of criticism like me. You're not perfect. Don't expect yourself to be. Just practice, practice, practice. Absorb all the information and criticism you can and practice. Writing is lovely even when it's a mess because there's beauty in the humanity behind it. Don't stress and just learn. Use the freedom that you can use on paper that you cannot find in the world. Writing can be so much more freeing than anything else.**

 **Anyway, that's all I wanted to say about my disappearance. Anything I have to say about the chapter will be at the bottom. Enjoy reading!**

* * *

4.  
The Trust Predicament

* * *

Jerry can't believe he's thinking this, but...

 _It's time to get a job._

It's an early Friday morning, one where the sky looks more gray than usual, and there's a chill settling in the air. There's no more pumpkins set up in front of houses along with different stickers of brown and auburn arranged around front doors. Time has passed. Christmas is coming and gifts are arriving right along with it. It's the beginning of a month supposedly full of excitement and cheer, mostly because of all the lights and ornaments dangled everywhere, that stands to represent what December is all about.

However, Jerry doesn't really think about it in that way. Not with all the _change_ for presents missing and the sudden realization that he'll probably be alone all month—now that his parents have shipped off for the month to the Bahamas. It doesn't help that he's slightly depressed either, but he guesses that's something to ignore for the season. It's not like that's the only exciting thing about Christmas. All of that cheery music fills shopping malls, smiles beam all around, and people all of a sudden get a little more optimistic.

Jerry can't help but feel strangely...

Unexcited.

He feels opposite of the usual way December makes him feel. He feels, _he doesn't really know how to explain it..._

 _Bummed out_?

Flipping over the pancake in his pan, Jerry focuses on attaining the right color on both sides. He's not going to let himself think negatively about holidays. He _loves_ holidays. Nothing is going to change that—not even the way he's recently been feeling. He's a happy guy, always has been, and always _will_ be. The one who everyone trusts to stay happy. _So stay happy Jerry,_ he tells himself.

Even if the feeling isn't real, and the silence in the kitchen makes him feel different, he tries to be a little joyful anyway. He slides the blueberry pancake onto his spatula, flips it onto the white plate, and pours enough syrup until two dots and a nice little curve resembles a smile. He always remembers to cut some strawberries and bananas on the side. Nothing tastes as real nor as good as those fruits together with syrup.

Trudging over to the table, unintentionally dragging his socked feet against the light wooden floor, Jerry sets his pancake down. In a blue robe, black sweatpants, and cameo shirt, he slides into the white table shrouded in the corner.

It's a still morning, that strange shrill sound is the only one ringing in his ear, and Jerry tries to fight against the sudden loneliness he feels. It eats him alive sometimes—if he lets it. If he sits down and thinks about it. About friends, family, and all the _other_ important people he's remembering.

Yet, Jerry won't do that to himself. He won't. Any time he feels sad or empty, he snatches his phone and plays some tunes or fools around on his phone until he's level twenty-four at something. Today, in the silent, bleak corner— _his negativity is showing again—_ Jerry chooses to play some Christmas tunes and rolls around his phone screen until he finds some job openings. _Anything to get out of the isolation—_ anything to get his holiday cheer going.

It's irritating at first. Most of the offers are meant for people with business degrees or some kind of long, long experience in retail. Jerry hasn't worked in retail since that one sneaker shop with Jack. That career didn't even last long. He doesn't think that even counts as much experience, but he puts it in any way and hopes people think he's experienced—or, you know, cool enough—to get the job. Sometimes luck works, other times it seems to really hold a lot against him.

He wonders if that's what happened when he found a friend in Tyler—and took him away from Kim.

Jerry hadn't intended to do anything. It was just nice to be with someone else—a guy. A guy who loved playing the same games as him, one who had the time to play games. Jerry hasn't remembered the last time Milton, Eddie, or Jack had time for anything like that. He'd try texting them, but they were always occupied with strange tea parties, barbecues, and _gardening_? It was a strange world for him and he couldn't help but latch onto the first person that jumped into his lap. It kind of happens with anyone who jumps onto his lap. He grabs onto them like if they were some sort of cat running away from home.

Nonetheless, Jerry knows his problem. He truly does. It's time for him to set his priorities with things that matter. Move his mind away from all the bad feelings, all of the ones that make him think things he never really would, all of the ones that make him suddenly hate the holidays. It's time to put the cheer in his wallet and in his heart. Because if life gives you both, then e _y! Who's to tell you you're not happy?_

Shaking his thoughts away momentarily, he faces the sleek gray iPhone in his hand under the minimal cold light coming from the balcony outside. It takes a lot of rolling, through dozens of ads about babysitting or dog walking, until he finds just the right ad for just the right person. It's not perfect, but it'll do.

* * *

Jack never assumed December would start off so bleak.

He's comfortably wrapped in pink fluffy sheets on a brown leather couch. There's a matte black laptop on his legs set comfortably underneath his palms. Everything seems to align itself so well despite the weather outside. It's a cold and low wind, a biting breeze, and it stings when it brushes against his skin. Jack can feel it from the small window crack across from him. He would seal it and all, but he's _so_ comfortable and warm. He can feel his toes singing. It's a really good feeling that he'd prefer to keep for himself until the wind is unbearable later.

Besides, Jack takes a look around at the room and he realizes there's a lot of things he's going to put off until it's unbearable later. There's an array of papers and textbooks set on the wooden table near the door behind him. Some socks lie near the floor beside the glass coffee table. One large cup with a hard and thick rim of hot chocolate is still on the table from about an hour ago. Additionally, for some strange reason, his favorite pair of brown boots have fallen against each other near the kitchen entrance across the bathroom.

It's a large apartment, but the assortment of all the rooms always makes the place feel small. Jack guesses that's why it sold so quickly. Weird structures and large spaces don't always match.

Anyway, he has a lot of things to organize. He also has about five more pages of this paper to write until it's due on Monday. He's already finished about three today, which is mostly because filling up the essay with quotations and summaries always make it easier on him later. It's an awful essay hack that he really loves and should feel bad about but doesn't at all.

"Jack!" He hears far off in the hallway along with two large feet. Probably to remind him to bear these things now, which he would never argue against, but still. "Can you close the window sill? You never close it and it always gets cold!"

Jack throws his head back, sighs dramatically. "Sure, babe."

Then, Jack leans forward and stretches his fingers as much as he can. Tendon after tendon and bone after bone attempt to expand, but nothing really happens. He's just lurching forward with his toes shot pointedly like a ballerina. Gradually losing enough energy for the ridiculous stretch, Jack loosens and falls back. His back collapses against the arm rest until he suddenly leans forward again.

"Jack," he hears again, only closer, "get off the couch and close it. You're not Mr. Fantastic."

He really wishes he had superpowers sometimes. Being stretchy could really help him with a lot in life, you know?

Slowly, but surely enough, Jack lets his bare feet meet the floor. He can hear those toes hit a musical note so high from the immediate contact of cold that he feels sorry for them. Moving them back into himself, he wonders if it's even worth closing the window. The floor is too cold and there's time throughout the day to shut the window anyway.

"Jack," he hears again, only Tiffany is right beside the couch this time, "are you serious?"

Jack is serious. He seriously doesn't want to close the window, but he does. He gets up, as lethargic and slowly as ever, and makes his way to the window to shut it with his palms. There's only a very small difference in the air when this happens, but he keeps his mouth closed about it. _It could have waited._

Nonetheless, Jack takes a nice moment to stretch, arms extending to the ceiling before he fixes his dark navy shirt against his torso and starts to make his way to the couch. Tiffany stops him before he even goes anywhere with two long arms and a nice hug that his toes probably need more.

"Mm," she hums against him, tilting her head to look up at him, "you're so lazy, but I still love you."

Jack looks down at her. Big brown eyes, a thin, long nose, and a wide, slim smile face back at him. He urgently wants to go back to the fluffy pink sheets and an almost finished essay, but he looks at the pink in her cool clay cheeks and the warmth of her skin. She's a much better pair of sheets. "It's not my fault it's too far," he whines, holding his chin above her forehead, "it's not even within arm radius. That's just poor architectural design!"

Tiffany laughs and it sounds like a nice crack in the middle of a bird song. He's not even sure what that means, but he assumes it means that he needs to catch a break from his coursework _._ "We should go out tomorrow."

Jack rubs his hands around her arms almost twice over before he lets her go slowly. He knows she's going to be disappointed about his plans with Eddie, but... He's having a good time with him and Lily. "Oh, I can't. I have this thing with Eddie."

"Again?" The brunette steps forward crossing her arms. "I mean, what do you guys even do?"

Jack thinks about his gardening thing and about how silly it sounds. He knows she won't laugh at him or anything, but she will definitely suggest he do it on Sunday or some other day. Only, he doesn't want to. He's always moving dates around for her. He kind of wants to have these Saturday things for himself. It's a nice difference.

"Nothing," he simply replies, shrugging his way to the couch. Jack tries to ignore the curiosity in her eyes as he brings the laptop back under his fingertips. Some things are better kept sealed, discreet, and locked away.

Tiffany lowers her eyebrows. She's not budging. "Seriously, Jack? Just tell me. I honestly don't care."

He knows she doesn't, but that also doesn't mean she won't persist about moving it around. Moving around the dates until Jack can't see Eddie until winter washes over or something. He has hobbies too—besides exercising and taking ridiculously long naps at any given time and day. Naps are real, you know?

"Nothing," Jack says again, only he shakes his head patronizingly this time. "We just do cool manly stuff."

"Hmph," Tiffany mumbles. "Fine. Don't tell me then."

She walks off right after, turning on her yellow flip flops, and heading towards the bedroom. Jack would be worried, but it's always been better to let her simmer down than boil up in curiosity. She'd only start asking about his stuff even more before he finds himself uninterested in gardening and now participating in some weekend tea party thing again. It's an issue better left resolved this way.

Only, Tiffany is still a little suspicious and Jack doesn't know how to feel about that. She's the kind of person who always wins CLUE and never needs to ask about what's bothering anyone. Jack can't keep anything sealed away from her really—not that he wants to. He's just pretty awful at keeping things tightly sealed. In other words, Tiffany is a pretty good detective, while Jack is awful at secrets.

Those kinds of imbalances in situations never last.

* * *

Kim wants to apologize.

It's been a couple of weeks when Saturday afternoon hits and Kim feels embarrassed, to say the least.

It's a sunnier day than Thursday and Friday. No clouds in the skies and birds swirling in circles above her apartment balcony. She feels like eating yogurt and walking through a mall with a friend. Something about how warm it is today combined with how ridiculous she feels about her cowardice the past three weeks really makes Kim suddenly desire socialization. If it's not enough that Christmas is just around the corner then it also helps that she feels very pathetic for holding something against Jerry and then feeling too embarrassed from it to say anything. How in the world does Kim even have friends?

Well, now that she thinks about it, does she? Does she even have any friends? She can't remember the last time Milton or Eddie called her—or even Grace!

Boy is she in trouble with her social ties. If there's ever a sign that Kim is no longer the same Kim, yet is Kim, that's one. She never cares anymore to keep ties, yet she's still just as bothered that no one has kept any ties. It's her fault anyway.

She never wants to grow up about her feelings. It's either anger or rage—nothing else. It's because of that that she has to apologize to Jerry. He's the only tangible tie around—and one that matters very much to her for some strange and oddly unsettling reason.

Turning away from her balcony and the light it reflects, Kim paces towards the hallway. She tries to ignore the anxiety boiling up in her chest as she notices the cleanliness of her exterior surroundings—the boy is still cleaning her apartment for her despite how ridiculous she acts.

Though to be fair, she never asks him and it's not like it's ever that dirty—all things she says to herself to ignore how bad and how ashamed she feels.

Finding herself across from his room, she glances at the door and prepares herself for feeling even worse than she wants to. She takes steps forward and slowly crosses the oil lamp in the middle of the hallway. Kim tries to think about all the words and sentences she should say and too many of them are jagged, sloppy, and clearly not at all thought out. More specifically, they all seem pretty piteous and fake. She's never been good at apologies.

Kim takes a look at her socked toes and then slowly up towards the wooden door. Running her hands across her face to remove any strands of hair, she puffs out a breath. _Own up to it,_ Kim thinks, _you were the one who did it._

Though to think of it, she's not sure that's entirely true. Jerry _did_ steal her boyfriend. Only, he hadn't intentionally done it. Or had he?

Honestly, she doesn't care. It doesn't matter anymore. She got over it three weeks ago. It's time to get her best friend back—at least, _this_ best friend back.

Quietly, nimbly, she knocks on the door. "Jerry."

She hears nothing. No little sheet shuffle. No distorted music playing loudly in someone's earphones. Nothing.

She knocks louder this time, yet only to confirm what she already knows. He's not there. He would either be napping, for the fifth time today, or dancing to some old Usher or Justin Timberlake song until he hits the edge of the desk. It used to be really uncomfortable and scary that she knew that, but now it doesn't bother her even in the slightest.

"Jerry," Kim tries again.

No sound at all. Not even a phone dinging. Kim takes the doorknob under the lack of light in the hallway and turns it. Her eyes confirm exactly what she already assumed when the door opens.

No one is on the other side. The blue bed sheets are fixed and properly made. His phone is gone and so is the charger next to the light wooden bedside table. His basic essentials and all of the things that go along with it are strewn messily on the wooden dresser across from the bed. Kim feels a little offended—he's out... Without her. He didn't even think to invite her?

 _Seriously, Kim?_ She rolls her eyes at herself. _Not everything is about you,_ even if it should be _, and it's not like you were the nicest friend recently._ He can do what he wants. No one told her to be a big baby about stuff and grumble at all the wrong people instead of her boyfriend—who she's still not on talking terms with. The situation was ridiculous, but Tyler did do wrong. It was Jerry who had no idea what was going on, like always, and, yet, still apologized.

She can't help but hate how recently apologetic and emotionally pliant he's gotten, but that's not something she can ever blame him for... Even if it bothers her.

She wonders where he's gone. On a Saturday. Jerry loves to go out, but, usually, he takes this day off to nap or fool around with his bodily hairs or something. _Again, a knowledge that used to bother her, but not anymore._ They're roommates and best friends; knowledge like that is common and completely normal, _she tells herself._

Kim guesses she'll have to ask about his whereabouts later after she apologizes. For now, she had friends to reconcile with.

Flipping her rose colored iPhone out, she presses Contacts and clicks on Grace. It's a task to form an endearing enough sentence that doesn't ring as fake or obviously desperate, but she succeeds somewhat.

Grace  
 _I'm boooooored. Wanna hang out? ; )_

It dings not a second later. She's amused by the text she's sent.

Grace  
 _Hey loser! Took you long enough. Whatcha wanna do? : P_

* * *

Tiffany really doesn't want to do this.

She's always been the one who knows things—just knows them. No one knows how or why, but it just is. She can see in people's minds and analyze whatever they're saying so she can decipher what the truth is. It's a skill of hers.

Consequently, on a Saturday afternoon, when the sky is still clear and sunny, Tiffany sets out to find out just what Jack and Eddie do. It's not intentional. It's almost just... Reactive. She knows Jack isn't doing anything bad or malevolent. She just wonders why he comes home with such a glow on his face and mud on his shoes. It's nothing personal... Really. She's just interested.

Candy begs to disagree.

"You just don't like your man smiling without you," cuttingly, she declares.

They're sitting in Candy's baby blue car, all round and small like the owner herself, and Tiffany slouches in her seat in response to the earlier comment. Candy could be right, but Candy could also be talking about herself. Actually, she thinks, _she is talking about herself._ There's always a self-truth to every bite she dishes out. Tiffany never takes it personally, but this time... This time, the truth pertains to Candy and, pathetically, Tiffany as well.

"That's not true," she lies, biting back any other comment. Candy stares at her with her big brown eyes and Tiffany grumbles. "It's not."

Candy shrugs, turns away, and leans forward against the dashboard. Tiffany does the same. The boys seem to be taking a left somewhere around the row of houses—houses of which are old, rotten, and cluttered with tall grass and vines. Only the elderly seem to live here.

"Listen," Candy continues, the smarter, albeit less self-aware one, "I know you. I've known you for a long time. You're possessive—"

"I am not!" Tiffany gapes her mouth, leaning toward the girl by her side. _She's a lot of things, but she's not possessive..._ Is she?

She thinks about her actions and she seems relatively cool and laid back. Only, Jack never gives her any reason to panic either. Furthermore, they're always around each other. There's not enough space to even determine if she is possessive, but she guesses that's enough evidence as it is. Under the warm light reflecting in the car, Tiffany suddenly seems hot and a little nauseous. _She's not possessive—s_ he's just curious. There is a big difference between the two. One is absolutely awful and the other is somewhat cute, she thinks.

"Right," the girl driving says, before pulling the gear shift and turning the wheel toward the direction the boys took.

They turn around the corner to a long row of another couple of houses. All the same as earlier: old, rotten, and cluttered with a horrible yard and horrible vines. The boys keep walking down the sidewalk, laughing hysterically with each other, as if their own partners aren't stalking them far afar. _Well,_ Tiffany tells herself, _it's not like they know anyway._

It's a nicely lit and mildly hot afternoon, but Candy wears a maroon long-sleeved shirt that flairs out to fit her small waist and large hips, some dark jeans, and maroon ankle cut boots. It's not exactly attire for a warm day, but she's definitely one to ignore the temperature for whatever her outfit choice is for the day. Her hair is perfectly curly from the top to the bottom, almost like a puff of little curls falling in different directions.

On the other hand, Tiffany's hair is just a little wavy, but ridiculously long. Her own outfit consists of a black hoodie, black tight pants, and white flat sneakers—an outfit she wears almost every day. The pants hug her slim frame, but the hoodie hides almost everything.

However, Tiffany doesn't really have much to show. Her frame is the same from top to bottom, no dip anywhere, and her chest doesn't contain much. _It's pretty small in there_ , she supposes.

"They're going into some house," Candy notes, leaning even closer to the windshield, as the car approaches from afar. "What the hell is my baby doing?"

"I have no idea," Tiffany absently answers while her eyes scan the destination up and down.

It's tall, stretching into the sky, and bright. Yellow, red, green, white, but in all the right areas. Brown on the shingle roof, green on the highest roof walls, red between the white borders that stream around and below, and then the rest is colored yellow. At the bottom, there's a brick foundation. It's vivaciously pretty. Tiffany likes the way the sun beams against it.

It's wild, but who cares? It's a wonderful piece of art.

"This house looking like a big mess," Candy blurts, shaking her head. "I don't even know where to start."

Tiffany smiles at the comment but tries to grab the rest of her amusement back in. She can always count on Candy to see things differently and pretty negatively. It always seems abrupt and awfully mean to other people, but Tiffany knows it's always honest—her friend never lies about things—and it's never intentional. Some of Candy's comments just whirl out and Tiffany finds she agrees with them even when she doesn't want to. She never wants to hurt people's feelings if she doesn't need to, but if it's an honest comment and it's already out in the air then she doesn't fight it.

Leaning her head forward to get a better look, Tiffany quirks her mouth. She has no idea where to start in terms of the whole investigation.

She sits back, unbuckles her seat belt, and nudges Candy.

"Let's go."

* * *

Kim didn't really think about this plan before she made it.

It's somewhere across rows and rows of houses, highways, and trees, on the same Saturday afternoon, when Kim realizes her little get-together plan with Grace wasn't well thought out. It's a cozy, bright evening nearing four in the afternoon, but there's not a word that passes between the two.

Both are standing across from one another with a rack full of colorful, vibrant clothes lined neatly together. Grace is searching extensively for a sweater; Kim can see the persistence within the creases between her eyebrows as she furrows them. She feels relief as she stares because, at least, there's a small distraction here somewhere, but she also feels pathetic. Shouldn't they talk about something? They did want to hang out.

In a light jean jacket, striped crop top, and some white vans, Grace looks up and notices her eyes. "What's up? You look like you're thinking about something. Spit it out."

Kim makes a noise, one that sounds like she's searching through vowels, and pouts a little when the words still don't come out.

It's not accidental, she swears. She thought going shopping and getting some frozen yogurt or some other beverage would have made this a little easier. It's only logical that common hobbies or common "likes" would make conversation easier for the two, but it wasn't. Kim still couldn't say anything worth talking about other than the weather, political complaints, and Brad Pitt. It's like they're not even the same people anymore—which they're not, but... Well, she doesn't really know what else to do.

Grace raises an eyebrow. " _Oooo_ kay. Words would be nice this time."

Kim still can't fumble through anything, especially now that things are awkward, but she thinks about the one thing still on her mind and tosses it out almost pretending that it's what's she meant to say. "I messed things up with Jerry again."

"Again?" Grace asks, but with a tone of amusement. Her lips are tilted into a quirk and Kim feels slightly offended at this. "I mean, it's not like you don't hurt the poor idiot every other week—"

"I don't hurt him every other week!" The blonde almost shouts as she removes her fingers away from any clothes she was fumbling through. Her lips gradually tilt into a pout. "I just—I say stuff that unintentionally sounds awful, but, but it's not like I want to. Actually..." Kim begins, but her next words sound so unfamiliar to her that she never lets them escape her tongue.

"What?" Her brunette friend looks up again after her eyes deviate to the rack every so often.

"Nothing," she quickly replies, shaking her head and moving away toward the end of the rack.

She doesn't mean to start pouting again, but it just happens. She fumbles through shirts and shirts until Grace meets her eyes across the rack again. There's a bubbly tune playing in the background, hovering over them through the air, and it's quite ironic to the turn of their conversation. Grace turns to the girl styled in a floral creme and pink sundress tightly sewn in the middle, maroon leather jacket, and brown ankle boots. Her blonde hair curls at the end and bounces when she turns to face back at Grace. There's a comfortable stare there, a stare that Kim recognizes, and it always cracks through any emotional wall of hers.

"Seriously, Kim," Grace tries again, but she's completely serious as she pesters this time.

"Grace, it's—"

The brunette leans her head in and lifts her eyebrow just a little. It's futile for Kim to fight against the honesty she's asking for.

"I just," the blonde sighs out exasperatedly, "I would never want to ever unintentionally hurt him again. Like ever. I hate seeing him so... Hurt. I hate knowing that I did that. That I was just so impulsive and irrational that I did that. I just want to like, I don't know, make him laugh again, or smile, or dance. Or, I don't know, I just..."

Grace sees the distance in Kim's eyes as if she's distraught in thought. It's so cinematically unaware and she feels terrible but also vexed. Those two are such idiots with each other. "You're so painfully ignorant Kim," she mindlessly blurts, surprised the words came out but no longer bothered to keep them in.

"What? Excuse me?" The one who was lost in thought replies. Grace almost lets her laughter escape her throat.

"You're ignorant. And don't worry about Jerry. I mean," the brunette adds, finding herself amused by the situation, "I don't get why you're worried. You two are inseparable—attached by the hip when you were in high school sometimes—"

"What? No. It's just cause Jerry was my friend. I used to hang out with all my friends. Like, I—I hung out with Eddie and Milton," Kim replies as she scrambles through her words. Some small teenager with a black pixie cut and brown jump boots passes by her. It immediately feels like she's silently judging her just as much as Grace.

Grace taps her sneakers against the old light wooden floor stretched vertically. She lets out a small triumphant huff and crosses her arms. "Kim. Just stop... Really. You don't have to explain anything. It's cool. Just apologize and hug it out. You two have always been pre _tt_ y chill about things like that. As if your friendship were made of out of some strawberry jam thread or something."

"Strawberry jam thread?" Kim almost smiles in levity.

"Yeah. Gooey. Sticky. Inevitable to fall back together. Is there something I'm missing?" Grace lifts an eyebrow. It almost seems like she's rehearsed all of this.

Kim doesn't really know how to feel when she thinks about all of those words in one sentence, but she does know that she feels a little meek suddenly—and her heart seems to be squeezing in her chest. It's not embarrassment, but it's not a regular feeling either. Maybe it's some sort of unfamiliar joy. Knowing Jerry would probably be her friend again soon.

"Nope," she finally answers, hiding her face away in direction to the rack.

"I mean, you and Jack were _fiiiire,_ " Grace continues while Kim finds herself turning away to search for some more clothes. She's just digging through and pulling them apart. Now, she's actually interested in some of these shirts. The hues have decreased in color and seem darker. "But you and Jerry are sort of like _rea_ lly, really good and gooey and smooth peanut butter, you know?"

Kim isn't really listening anymore. Her eyes are squinting toward the window across from them. She thinks she sees a familiar Latino boy, one she owes an apology to, across the street in the burning beams of gold. Sitting on a pale stone bench, the boy seems to be eating a sandwich. She finds herself whipping around to face Grace in an instant.

"I mean, it's not fire, but who's to know that you won't like peanut butter?"

"Grace," she starts, holding her chosen clothes close to her, "Grace!"

The brunette lifts her head and pauses her sentence. "Huh?"

"It's Jerry!" Excitedly, she starts, before she pauses, "Wait—why is he here? Alone?"

"Because some people like to go outside sometimes Kim," Grace replies as she turns her face away from her and toward the clothes instead.

"Sure," the other girl sarcastically agrees before making her way toward the entrance of the small clothing store. "I'll be right back. Just wait here."

Grace just shakes her head. She watches Kim swing the door open in front of her and make her way across the somewhat empty street. It's as if she can almost trace a line between them. Ridiculously soaked with peanut butter and strawberry jam. _Gooey and sticky_ , she thinks. Though now that she thinks about it even further, Grace might actually just be hungry.

Probably.

* * *

"They're just... Talking," Tiffany begins.

Candy stares ahead before she takes a look at Tiffany. She looks a little disappointed, but probably a little more guilty. _The girl has separation issues,_ she considers. What else could she expect from a situation like this?

"I don't get it," Tiffany continues before moving herself against the bush rather than peeking above it.

In the blinding light of a Saturday afternoon, Candy holds a hand above her eyes. She stares on at the huge backyard space the lady has here and it's not much with the greenhouse inside, but it seems big without it. Just a small little row of bushes and a little walkway lie here. She guesses that's why it makes sense to have one in the first place. It's better for her huge space and probably better for her skin. _The sun is just a little ridiculous here,_ Candy comments to herself. It's even worse when both girls are hunched over a bunch of bushes eyeing their boys for just talking to some elderly woman. It's just sad actually.

"You don't have to," the smaller one comments. Holding her knee, she sits next to her friend.

"What?"

"You don't have to get it. It's his thing, you know? Let him have it. I get it and I ain't about to bother Eddie about it." Candy stumbles just a little before she makes her way up and standing. "I'm out of here. Before my baby finds out how much of a hot mess I am. Literally. My hair is just—"

"What? You're leaving?" Tiffany asks disappointingly. Looking up at her friend's face, she can almost start to feel the shame kick in.

"Yeah. And you should too honey."

Candy doesn't make any hesitations to make her way out of the small little back of the huge yard. She makes her way onto the stone pathway, grabs the hooks of her jeans to wriggle them upward, and finally starts to walk away. The other girl doesn't exactly want to stay, but seeing her friend go and seeing her boyfriend on the other side of the yard in some greenhouse—beaming and laughing—makes her suddenly feel so small and guilty.

Soon, it's hard to get her two large feet together and away from the scene. It's called guilt freezing—something so ridiculously stupid that her body does all of the time.

Candy whirls her body around to ask one last time. "You coming? I don't mind if you walk girl."

Tiffany nods but doesn't move. She's stuck in her own body.

Candy looks back and forth between the house and the girl on the grass. She knows exactly what's happening. She's been friends with this girl for a few years. If you listen to your friends, then you learn about your friends, and soon you adapt to your friends. "Is it happening? The guilt thing?"

"Mm... _Hm_ ," is all the other girl replies. She can't nod all that well anymore.

Candy finds her way on the grass and wraps her arm underneath her friend's shoulder. She's not amazing at solutions but she tries. "Just breathe honey. We gotta move real fast or we'll get caught. Breathe and walk. It ain't easy, but slow your way into it."

Tiffany tries to do just that. She's silently thankful Candy isn't someone new in her life, but also that she's a lot more patient than she gives her credit for. Nonetheless, Tiffany knows they're never going to be fast enough. Her two feet feel like they're stepping in and out of mud and her breathing is still irregular—now it's just anxiety at this point.

When Candy freezes beside her, Tiffany follows suit. She looks up to see two boys and an older lady.

Jack is concerned. Eddie is confused. The lady, well, just has a permanent mug on her face. It's not an ideal situation in the least.

"What are you doing here? Is she okay?" Jack blurts. He's worried and she can tell from the way he's stretching his pinky out. It always starts with one finger than the rest until his whole hand is up and he's making his way across whatever distance to meet her.

"We were just... You know," Candy says, waving her other hand around in nonsensical gestures. "Not everything in life has answers."

"You were spying on us, right?" Eddie abruptly comments. He's not surprised nor offended. He has a tired look in his eye from all the effort pulled in the greenhouse, but, in response, he doesn't seem to care. He seems to have already known and come to terms with it. Candy doesn't know if she's offended that he's comfortable of her mess or relieved.

 _That says a lot about my character,_ she thinks.

"Seriously?" Jack faces the girl limp in her friend's hands. However, he seems a lot closer now, Tiffany notices. He's still worried, but he might also be mad. There's a disappointed look in his eyes, little at first and then slowly growing, and she feels even fainter already. "Why would you spy on me?"

She can't answer. Doesn't want to.

"Do you not trust me?"

"Can you drive Candy?" Eddie asks abruptly again in the middle of Jack's volatile frustration. Only, his body is slouching as he says it. He seems disappointed in a different way than Jack. Quiet, submissive, but disappointed. "I'm tired. And I really don't want to talk."

 _There it is_ , the darker, smaller one notices. _There's his anger._ Quiet, but boiling. Small and little, but there. Candy feels even worse at this reaction rather than an explosive one. He seems too exhausted to even entertain his emotions—probably because of all the dirt on his shoe and under his fingernails. It's an anger that takes a while to fade away. Typically, Candy finds herself at the face of it for weeks.

"Sure baby," she lightly complies. Releasing Tiffany into the hands of her partner, she trudges away after Eddie. They both walk on ahead one before the other, quiet and in thought, and Candy makes no moves to hold his hand or rub his back.

Tiffany can feel her own guilt swell when the couple disappears behind the tall and dark fence. The elderly lady watches them go silently. She doesn't say a word to either of them, but she does turn to Tiffany with a quirk on her face.

"Guess it's not appropriate now, but I'm Lily. And you're Tiffany, right?" Lily gradually lifts her lip into a smile. "You should trust your boyfriend here a little more. He's not that bad. Real focused."

In all of her sudden beaming light, Lily turns away. Each step of hers small against the old, withered grass, but her way to the door is eventual. She's all small frame and gray thick curls with a vibrantly brown dress and sneakers. Tiffany thinks she might already be the coolest older lady to ever live in this planet. However, it truly stinks that they had to meet this way—in the middle of a guilt attack in her own backyard. _Now I feel possessive,_ she tells herself and the rest of her inner world.

Jack stares on ahead toward the house. She tilts her head up at him and sees a glimmer of anger in his eyes, but it's not too intense—the frustration, on the other hand, is.

"Let's just go home," the brunette puffs out tiredly.

"But—"

"Let's. Go. Home."

Tiffany doesn't fight him again. She slumps back into his shoulders and makes a step forward. Her steps are a little easier now, but the feeling in her heart isn't. It might be the single worst feeling she's felt in a while—actual justifiable guilt. Guilt that has reason and cannot evaporate into thin air so quickly. She has to apologize and confront stuff this time.

If only she actually listened to Candy in the car. Sometimes the girl can be right—and it's better being wrong and learning then being right and doing everything wrong. It's a lesson she still hasn't learned...

Unfortunately.

* * *

Jerry still doesn't feel all that well.

It's a Saturday afternoon with a warm and generous sun. People are silently walking left and right, no more than two at a time, invested in each other's worlds. There's a faint Christmas song playing in the air, somewhere inside one of the many stores across the street, and it echoes all around. Normally, it would lift his spirits and spread some holiday cheer, but something is wrong today. Something has been wrong for a while. He can't put his finger on it, but eating, taking in the feeling of people around him, and holiday cheer is doing nothing for him. He feels just the slightest bit distant and away from the world.

And that is the scariest feeling.

No one told him that love would ever do this to him—not this deep. Not as sharp. He can't even remember the last time he's felt in touch with himself. In touch with his reality. Some days pass by and it's like he's floating. Other days, Jerry feels like he's stuck in quicksand, but he doesn't sink. He feels a never ending feeling of inevitability, but he doesn't sink. And it... He feels so scared. Even now, whenever he's alone, except... Not with Kim. Kim made him—

"Jer!"

He stops chewing his Subway sandwich suddenly. He can feel a bit of tomato sauce on the corner of his lip. He doesn't bother to clean it—he's going for another bite in a second anyway.

Lifting his head lethargically upward, Jerry faces a familiar blonde. His nerves do a weird thing to his face for a second. It's like he can't feel it and then he doesn't. Consequently, he turns away. He can't help but feel excited that she's here and then nervous that he might drive her away again.

"Jer," Kim tries once more, but with persistence at her side. "What are you doing here?"

"It's my lunch break." He bites into his meatball sandwich. Kim lifts an eyebrow interestedly.

"You work?"

"Yeah," the man mumbles, lifting his hand against his lip to wipe off some sauce in the process. He could feel it against his skin and it was tickling him.

Kim sits beside him without hesitation. Bumping his shoulder with her arm accidentally, she falls into a quiet silence with him. She doesn't do anything other than stare at her shoes and stare at the people walking to and fro. Some small wisps of her hair brush against her nose and eyes. Jerry can hear the breeze playing around with it. It's a comfortable, yet teetering sound between the two.

Jerry feels relief in it. Though nothing is to be said, he likes it. He feels not as alone with her around. It's easy for him to feel alone.

"I'm sorry," Jerry blurts, turning his eyes to the floor. Desperate for her to stay. "Please don't be mad at me anymore."

"I'm not!" She almost shouts. There's a relief in her reaction somewhere, but he can't tell what it's necessarily from. "I'm not mad at you. You didn't do anything Jer—at all. You—you mess up sometimes and that's really annoying, but I'm not mad at you right now. Actually," she declares, puffing her chest out before she lowers it once more, "I can't stand being mad at you. I can't stand even... Being mean to you. I just hate it when I do that. Whether or not, you messed up. I hate being mad and I hate being mean and I—I... I just don't like making you feel bad Jerry."

Jerry furrows his eyebrows at this declaration. He doesn't exactly understand. _He messed up, didn't he?_ "But I—I messed up."

"No." Kim turns to face him. "You didn't mess up this time—I did. I got angry and I intentionally let you sit in... In your guilt. I did that. And, I don't like doing that. I hate making you feel bad. I really... Really hate it."

He doesn't respond. Kim can tell he's listening.

"Something is going on with you and you won't tell me. And, and everytime you sit in your guilt I know there's something you're not telling me. You—you don't have to, but I know something is wrong."

Jerry gulps. His hands start to get a little clammy and he feels something heavy blocking something in his chest. He doesn't answer or say anything at all, but he knows his friend can see everything anyway.

Kim knows him as much as he knows her.

He never knew that. Never knew any of his friends could see much of what was going on inside of him. People know he's sensitive, but his emotions... His emotions are turbulent. There's no order there—it's all chaos, a messy puzzle with lots of pieces missing, and no sense of structure nor how to fix it.

Kim looks ahead again. Her hair dancing in the wind. "I want to make you happy Jerry. And I want to make you laugh. I don't want to hurt you anymore... I feel like you deserve better than that. Better than me not thinking and being impulsive. I feel like... You deserve someone who at least tries."

Jerry looks up at her. There's a tidal wave in his eyes, each eye clear and empty, without any of the water and the redness. He's feeling a lot of things and Kim doesn't know them all, but she just wants to be there for him. Through the waves.

"I'm sorry Jerry," the blonde says finally, letting her head fall on his shoulder for just a second before she tilts it back up. "Now stop feeling bad and start smiling."

He lets his head fall.

"Hey," she says, punching him lightly on the shoulder, "I said start smiling. No more pouting."

He looks back at her. Eyes not as sad, but more so relieved. She never realized his eyes were such mood rings.

"Pl _eee_ ase," the blonde tries again, shaking his shoulder in her hand. "If you're upset then I'm upset. We're like a connected... Thread or something—of strawberry jam or peanut butter."

Jerry faintly smiles, lifting both brows, as if he's amused by the situation. "You're definitely peanut butter."

"I am not peanut butter. You're peanut butter. You used to have old peanut butter jars under your bunk bed, Jerry—"

"Yeah, but that's old me, Kim. I've changed, I have priorities, and I clean stuff now—"

"That doesn't make you strawberry jam—"

Somewhere in between that riddled mess of a conversation, Jerry starts to laugh and Kim follows after. It's not something they realize, but it slowly finds its way there. Grace can see from the view of the window and she grins to herself at it all. To think that Kim doubted all the truth in the statement of hers. It's like people forget that Grace has a pair of eyes or something. Like if she can't see all the ridiculous attachments they have to each other and how confusing that thread is going to get when they both realize it's not just any kind of thread.

It's gooey. Sticky.

Inevitable.

* * *

 **AN:**

 **Didn't mean to saturate the whole chapter in cheesiness, but Kerry needed some fluff.**

 **I also wanted to talk about the different dynamic between Kim and Jerry. I don't think these two have the same intensity that Kim and Jack have. Like Grace says, Kim and Jack have such fiery ties. Those two were written in such a way that it's explosive sparks everywhere and all the while it's innocent as well. I wanted to talk about that.**

 **However, Kim and Jerry are different in a very special way for Kim as well. I don't want to go too into detail because it will all unravel as the story goes, but they're softer, a little sweeter, and they blend together in a way that's impossible to rip apart. It's just a really sticky and saccharine tie. (You should all probably listen to _Gooey_ by Glass Animals to get an understanding of what I mean.) **

**Also, I didn't want to make any relationship more special than the other. Both relationships mean a lot to Kim and have an impact on Kim. I just wanted to talk about the differences.**

 **Anyway, how was the chapter? Did you like it? Love it? So-so? Is there anything you would like me to talk about in the next few chapters? Any ideas? Comments? Criticism? I'm open to anything you have to say. If you don't like my interpretation of the characters then you can always give me suggestions to better expand them. Also, how do you all feel about Tiffany and Candy? Or Grace? This chapter was full of different ladies. Let me know which one is your favorite one.**

 **Too-da-loo!**


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